Apocalypse: Sunnydale
by Ducks - The Anti-Joss
Summary: 15 year after the End of Days, a soldier returns home from the front, and only an old friend can help him pick up the pieces.
1. Default Chapter Title

**_Apocalypse: Sunnydale_ **   
by Ducks

_**Part I**_  
**_American West Coast, 2015_**

_'This is exactly like the Civil War...'_ Angel thought as he hauled himself out of the sewer entry. It was barely two minutes after sunset, and already the creatures of the night seemed to be everywhere.

But not as plentiful as the soldiers... skeletons of men and other creatures, haunted husks and shells of beings sucked dry by 15 years of brutal war, who staggered along the highway all around him.

He was exhausted, and famished. He'd been walking for two weeks straight to get here, from the Golden Might Correctional Facility in Northern Washington; a prison for soldiers of the Resistance -- for demons on the wrong side of the war. Or the right, depending on how you looked at it. Rumor had it that they were one of the last prisons to be liberated, long after the fighting had ceased.

In the South at the end of the American Civil War, the scene had been much like this, he remembered... men rushing home as fast as their broken bodies and spirits would allow, like a long stream of the walking dead, only to find that home simply wasn't there anymore. All that remained there were burnt out hollows where fine houses stood, and gravestones to take the place of the beloved who once lived in them.

If Angel hadn't been so certain of his direction and his destination, he never would have recognized this wasteland as Sunnydale at all. It was hard to even remember the landmarks that once lined Main Street... He and Buffy had walked its length, hand in hand, a million times...

Of course, there was nothing left of the streets here, now. Only rubble and ruins to tell that it had once been a thriving community.

But even with the landscape scraped clean of landmark by fire and bombs, he knew exactly how to get where he was going. It was only the thought of this day that had kept him alive all these years... through the horror of the war, and through the worse nightmare of the years after. Through all of the pain, both physical and otherwise, that he had suffered, the knowledge that he would one day be back here again kept him going... kept him rising each dark and moonless day underground.

Ravello Drive looked much like the rest of the West Coast. The quaint, tree-lined streets were now no more than dirt and rubble-strewn paths, worn flat by tanks and hovercraft, millions of feet, and fiery magick. He came down the last block, and his unnecessary breath caught in his throat with a choking hitch.

Buffy's house was gone, too. And nothing, not even the ageless oak tree that was once his ladder to her window, was left to mark where it had been. He stood on the edge of the road and gaped at the yawning emptiness of the lot.

Gone. Just like everything, and everyone, else. Was she gone too?

Angel felt the first real wave of hopelessness wash over him in a crippling wave. Gone... he hadn't realized how much he had been expecting her to be here, waiting for him, when he returned... how much of himself he had invested in the hope that he might one day see her again...

He collapsed on to a heap of sandbags piled behind him, and wept for the first time in 15 years.

"Are you alright, son?" he heard a soft voice ask from beside him suddenly. A frail hand touched his shoulder.

Angel knew he should move, or run, or something... but all he could do was hide his face in his hands as he sobbed.

The sandbags beside him creaked a little as the stranger sat down.

"Are you a soldier, dear?" she asked gently.

Angel nodded, wiping at his face with his tattered sleeve.

"Oh, my..." the voice said, "Was this your home?"

Angel looked up, and conjured a crystal clear image of the little bungalow, and its precious inhabitants, in his mind.

He nodded again.

"I'm sorry, son..." she murmured.

Angel looked up at his companion at last. She was a handsome old woman, who probably would have made a perfect stereotypical grandmother in one of those old-fashioned lemonade commercials, were it not for her khaki battle gear and black flack jacket. 

He stared at her. 

"Have you only just now come home from the front?" she asked.

Angel blinked. It had been so long since he had made polite conversation with someone, he wasn't sure he remembered how anymore. Back before the war, he knew some might have thought of him as socially adequate, maybe even occasionally charming... but not anymore.

"I've been in prison for nine years." He said flatly, and turned away from her to stare straight forward once again.

The woman seemed unsurprised by his answer. She regarded Angel carefully for a moment. There was something odd about the boy... something that made her sixth sense tingle... something that couldn't be explained away by Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. She dismissed it. It mattered little... he seemed to have given up everything for the right side, at least...

_//Such a young man...Must have been no more than a child when he left here, poor thing...//_

She rose and reached out a aged hand to him. "I'm Carol. Carol Blue." She said.

Angel looked up into her steely gray eyes, and then down at her outstretched hand.

"Angel." he said, and shook it.

Carol smiled warmly at him. His hands were frigid, as though he had been ill for a long time. She felt yet another pang of sympathy for him.

"You must be starved." She said, "And you're freezing. Why don't you let me take you to the Centre. You can get a meal there... medical care... a wash... perhaps even a bed, if you're lucky."

Angel looked back to where Buffy's house once stood for a moment. Then he got up and followed Carol Blue up the street without another word.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He didn't know what he had expected the Centre to be, but it certainly wasn't this. Carol had led him down into the sewers nearest the Docks, which he immediately recognized. The path suddenly veered to the left, through what looked like a blast hole in the sewer wall, and led into a network of tunnels he was certain he'd never seen before, and he had spent many hours scouring the hundreds of miles of sewer beneath Sunnydale's streets... Each hallway within was brightly lit from a source he couldn't readily identify, but which even his prison-dulled senses told him might be magick.

Carol obviously knew her way through these paths. She led him resolutely by the hand for miles, never so much as stopping for a moment to catch her breath. Physically, she might be three times his age, but she was clearly in far better shape.

It seemed a long, exhausting while, but soon, Angel began to pick up sensory signals that surprised him. The salt of the ocean... the musk of thriving plant life... and the calm hum and sweet, living smell of hundreds of human beings. Carol stopped suddenly in front of an unusual outcropping in the western wall, and leaned close to it.

"Foraminis." She said softly. Angel was startled to hear Latin again after all these years. The magickal languages were forbidden, in Demon prisons.

The walls began to shake and hum loudly, and in a moment, the boulder before them disappeared, and they walked, hand-in-hand, through the large opening that took its place.

It was the most magnificent thing Angel had ever seen.

The area yawned open before them, an incredible underground marketplace. The streets went on for as far as he could see, and every square inch seemed packed with carts, quaint shop-fronts, animals...

And people. Thousands of them. Of all races, ages, and both genders. Here and there, he even noticed non-humans wandering about, looking for all the world like this was their home, too. The air was bright with colorful banners and balloons, and rich with the smells he always associated with the market. Fresh, hot meats and sweet confections, foaming beer, cheap perfume, soft cottons and silks, and the musk of animals and humans alike.

The sensations assaulted Angel, causing him to freeze in his tracks and grip Carol's hand like a lost child. After smelling nothing but dirt and misery, pain and death, for fifteen years, all of this... all of this normalcy... was almost too much for him to bear.

He was suddenly torn between the urge to turn and run, and the desire to fall to his knees and weep to the Powers -- thank them, for preserving some small part of the world... his world.

Carol waited patiently, watching him with interest as he drank it all in. It was often like this, when they first came. After the shock of finding their home decimated, to find it seemingly rebuilt miles below ground was a sensation akin to a violent rebirth. Angel turned his wondering eyes on her.

She smiled. So much like her own boy, now five years dead...

"We captured this complex in '05. The demons had quite an operation going down here, being so close to the Hellmouth, and all... and so close to the ocean?" she grinned conspiratorially at him, "They were no match for us, though..." she said proudly, "And we've expanded it for miles in every direction."

Angel found his strength once again, and they resumed their walk.

He was getting a headache from the lights, the noise and the aromas, on top of his searing hunger and exhaustion. Relief soon found them in the form of their destination, a building with a whitewashed front, and a red cross painted over the door. Upon stepping inside, he knew immediately it was some kind of clinic. Even over the smell of disinfectant came the stench of sickness and blood. He swayed dizzily, and Carol put her arm around him for support.

"This is the hospital." She said, and led him to an entranceway whose door read, _Registration Center_, "Anyone who wants to enter the city must come here, first." She told him.

The clean white waiting room seemed stained by dozens of other men, all filthy, hopeless and half-dead, like himself. And each one looked as overwhelmed and bewildered as he felt.

Carol led him to the nearest counter, rapping the surface to grab the nurse's attention. He looked up from his clipboard, obviously irritated at the interruption.

"Take a number, please," he droned from rote.

"I'm Carol Blue," she said, "I'm a Spinner. I found this boy on my patrol. He is badly in need of care..." she told the nurse.

He didn't even look up at her again. "Take a number, please," he repeated.

In the blink of an eye, Carol reached out and snatched the clipboard from the man's hand. He finally looked up at her, his face shocked and angry.

If Angel had had any energy... or any feeling at all, for that matter, he would have laughed.

"Look, lady!" the nurse objected loudly, "I don't care who you are! You could be the Dalai Lama, but you still have to take a number!"

And then, Angel would have punched the boy flat in the face for disrespecting his elders.

But there was no need. Carol leaned over the desk and got right into the nurse's face, "You listen to me, young man. I was carrying a rifle and wand on these streets before you could even _talk_." she spat, "This man is a _veteran_. He put his life on the line so that you could have your little position of power... so you could keep all of this..." she gestured around the room with the stolen clipboard, "You _will_ find him a doctor, immediately, or I will take this to your smart mouth!"

Angel chuckled in spite of himself. Carol Blue was obviously not in need of a champion.

The nurse continued to glare at her, his mouth opening and closing angrily.

"Is there a problem here?" came a voice from behind them.

The nurse got up, looking relieved. "Dr. Harris, this woman just barged in here and demanded treatment for this man. She won't get in line, and she won't take a number!"

"He is a _veteran_!" Carol shouted at the newcomer, "Can't you see he is _ill_? Look how malnourished he is, and _pale_!" She waved her hand at Angel frantically, her voice desperate, "He's only just been released from prison, and we can't just leave him out here to die!"

"No one is going to die, Mrs. Blue." the doctor said patiently, and placed a gentle hand on Angel arm, "What's your name, soldier?" she asked softly.

Something about her voice... there was something about her that tugged at his awareness and wouldn't let it go. He slowly looked up.

Her hair was an even deeper red than he remembered, but now streaked with shining strands of silver. She wore her trademark patient, sweet smile, but it seemed ironically punctuated by her tired eyes.

"Willow?" he said, flabbergasted.

Her hand dropped from his arm and her mouth scrunched into a shocked little "o". Angel grabbed her in a crushing embrace, and began sobbing hysterically into her shoulder, crying, "I can't believe it's you! Oh, god, I can't believe you're alive!" over and over.

"Angel?" Willow whispered, and slowly wrapped her arms around him. He was so thin, and weak...

In a moment, she was crying too, oblivious to the surprised stares of Carol and the nurse.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[NEXT][1]

   [1]: http://www.fanfiction.net/master.cfm?action=story-read&storyid=13759



	2. Default Chapter Title

_Apocalypse: Sunnydale - Part I Continued_

The microwave alarm beeped, and Willow reached over to pop the hot blood bag out of it.

"Ouchouchouch..." she said, tossing it so that it plopped with a wet slap into a nearby bowl. She handed it to him. "Be careful, it's hot." she warned.

A little thermometer on the side of the polybag read 98.6º Angel stared at it, and then her, curiously.

"It's more nourishing warm." She told him.

He continued staring at her dumbly.

"We had more than a few vampires in the army, Angel. We learned a lot about what you need to stay healthy, and to heal quickly. Now eat, before it gets cold." she said.

Angel's hunger got the better of him. He snatched the bag out of the bowl, immediately vamping out, and sunk his fangs into the thick plastic.

It was the first good meal he'd had in at least 10 years.

He made short work of the first pint, and then a second, and a third that Willow prepared for him, watching and waiting patiently as he fed. It was only when the bloodlust faded, and he wiped the gory remains of the meal off his chin, that he was suddenly struck by the shame of feeding in front of one who had once been his friend...

He looked up at her sheepishly.

"Better?" Willow asked, taking the empty bags and putting them through a disposal shoot. She took the bowl and deposited it in another, marked "Decontamination".

Angel nodded, watching her as she sat back down on the stool beside him.

"Good." She said, and smiled wearily.

Willow stared at him for a good, long moment. It absolutely blew her mind that this was Angel sitting here before her, real as day. He looked wretched -- gaunt, and frankly, ancient. But underneath the filth and pain and despair, she still recognized his handsome features and his kind, soulful eyes. She couldn't have been more shocked if the Easter Bunny had dropped by for a visit... or more pleased.

"I'm glad to see you." Angel said sincerely. They were the first words he had spoken since he'd arrived in her office.

Willow smiled at her old friend, "I'm glad to see you, too." she said longingly.

Her tone made him wonder how many of the others were dead...

A split second later, she seemed to break out of the little cloud that had descended over them, and brightened noticeably.

"Well," she said, "Now that you're here, we need to get you some quarters." She looked up and down at his tattered prison uniform, "And some clothes. You can take a bath and get some sleep, and then we can talk when you're feeling better." 

She had an air of confidence and authority she'd never had before, Angel noticed. Probably born from years of battle on the front lines, by the side of the Slayer.

"Buffy..." he said, inadvertently, out loud.

Willow stopped and looked back at him. "All in good time..." she said. She waved her hand over the door panel, and it slid open in front of her. She didn't turn around, but her head drooped as she said, "I'm so glad you're not dead, Angel..." and left.

He _was_ dead, of course, but he knew what she meant.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Angel couldn't remember the last time he was in a room by himself.

Two orderlies, older volunteers from the clinic, had lead Angel through yet more clean, crowded, colorful streets into an enormous biospheric structure that looked for all the world like any old neighborhood above ground, before the war. Clear blue holographic skies sparkled overhead, lit by a synthetic sun, whose light didn't burn him. The streets were filled with signs of life... children playing, men mowing their lawns, young housewives gossiping as they sunned themselves over Daiquiris in the back yard...

Heaven. This was what Heaven was like, in his imagination. Angel found himself overwhelmed over and over again, at the sights... and he couldn't seem to stop crying for the beauty of it all.

The apartment building they escorted him to was fabulous -- something of a hybrid of Spanish architecture and Star Trek. The facade was much like the outside of the building Cordelia had lived in in Los Angeles, a pleasantly haunted apartment with extraordinary views of the city and high, vaulted ceilings. But placed here and there were cleverly hidden control panels and vid screens.

Angel took everything in with an exhausted wonder. So much had changed, since he'd been gone.

One of the volunteers opened an apartment door. The inside was nearly identical to Cordelia's place, too, and immediately evoked stabbing pain within him at the memory of how he'd found her, raped and disemboweled, hanging from the ceiling by her entrails. The Scourge had come looking for Angel, but he had already disappeared deep into the Underground, fighting with the gang of highly trained terrorists. Cordy had refused to join him when he left, insisting that she had no intention of living in the stinky sewers with a bunch of bloodthirsty demons... even if they were good ones. So the Scourge had come for her, and she had died for him. Bought his life with her own... it was yet another deep, black stain on the already mottled tapestry of his existence...

"You won't be able to operate anything with bio-scan," one of the volunteers told him, "But everything is just as easily activated by voice. Just program in a password, and let the monitor scan your retinas."

He had done as they asked.

Now he shook himself back to the present, and stared into the steaming bathwater, which gathered foam and waited for him in the tub. The heat seared his big toe when he stuck it in, and he snatched his wounded digit back, as if the stuff were holy water.

_//Don't be such a baby,// _he chided himself, _//You used to dream about scalding hot baths, every day.//_

And he had... he'd dreamed about hot baths... fresh herbal tea... Buffy... Opera... _Dark Shadows_... Buffy... night-blooming jasmine, poetry... but mostly, he dreamed about Buffy. Angel had whiled away thousands of miserable days replaying moments they'd spent together in his mind... he repeated every word, re-examined every gesture, every touch...

He sunk his legs slowly into the water, and felt a shiver run through him as the steam rose, and twenty years of grime and pain loosened up and began to fall away from his skin.

He bent over and sat down, and felt a back spasm from a poorly healed spinal injury he had learned to ignore years ago finally ease, then stop.

He sighed deeply as the water came up around his waist. He relaxed, and one by one, the faces of the beloved dead floated up to his mind's eye, and he began to remember, once again, everyone he missed.

As Angel sunk in up to his chest, he remembered his heroes -- the ones who died in the first days of the war: Doyle, Wesley, Jhiera... They had given their lives, one by one, smiling, with eyes open, to the cause.

Goodness. They all fought and died for the right... for the nice things about the world, and the not so nice... for sweetness... for light. Was it worth it?

He let his head go under and sank to the bottom of the seemingly fathomless tub. The creepy sensation of his lungs filling with water overtook him.

_//This is what it feels like to die. Funny, that I can't really remember...//_

Had it been so long since he himself had died?

_//Which time?//_ He snorted bitterly, forcing a pack of bubbles out of his mouth, and he watched as they chased one another to the surface.

Was it worth it? He thought of the taste of chocolate... the warm, honeysuckle and vanilla scent of Buffy's skin... the feeling of sunlight on his face... the thrill of her little hand in his, and the soft touch of her lips...

_//Yes. It was worth it. I would do it all again... I'd die a million deaths gladly, without a second thought, if it guaranteed her a long and happy life...//_

He lay there, a drowned man, crying useless tears into the endless ocean of the hot bathwater.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The doorbell woke him from a sound, dreamless sleep, and he turned automatically to look at the clock on the nightstand. It was barely 4 p.m. But what day was it? He couldn't remember how long he'd been asleep. Or really, even, for a moment, where he was or how he had gotten here.

Willow had said -- yes, he remembered now -- that she'd be by today at tea. Had she really said tea?

Angel stumbled to the door and waved his hand in front of the panel. Nothing happened.

"Damn it.... uh..." he lowered his face over the monitor, "Retinal scan override." he ordered it weakly. He felt the faint tickle of the laser scan, and the mechanical voice replied, 

"Password?"

Angel didn't have to think. "Anne," he said.

"Accepted." The door slid open.

"Bloody things, these doors, aren't they? Worse than a lack of invitation for keeping a bloke out." his visitor said, wearing a sly grin.

Angel scowled. "Spike."

The vampire grinned at his Sire, "Never thought to see you again, mate." he said, as he moved past Angel and sauntered into the room.

"Likewise." Angel hissed, tugging his robe tighter around him.

Spike picked up a book of Zen koans from the table and fingered it absently as he looked around the room. "Hm. Spartan. So, how are you enjoying post-apocalyptic Sunnydale?"

Angel glared at him silently. Of all the creatures he had ever known that he wished he could see again, Spike didn't even make the top 100. He watched the blonde wander over to where he stood, and then leered up at him.

"Did you hear? I helped save the world." he laughed, "I helped build this fancy little hole. And where, exactly, have you been, hm? Where's our intrepid good guy been, through all the tough stuff, eh?" he gave Angel a mock-Macho punch in the arm.

"And I imagine you stuck around out of the goodness of your heart." Angel snarled, unwilling to waste his energy justifying himself to his impertinent childe.

"Hell no!" he exclaimed, "That's what makes this such a grand new society! If you work hard, you get what you need, and the good folks that lead don't judge a creature's... tastes. I get livestock. And lots of it. Of course, I don't get it fresh, but, it's close enough... Long, lazy afternoons glutting at the slaughterhouse..." he said wistfully, and came closer, almost breathing in Angel's ear, "And did I mention that the war hero bit gets even more sympathy than the Ann Rice routine ever did? Certainly throws a sympathy into a lonely girl or two..."

Angel snarled, feeling the demon within him lurch, easily waking and immediately battling for control of his still-weak body. He could barely hold it back anymore, after letting it run free to defend him for so many years.

"Now, now... temper..." Spike said, moving away to pace the room, "I can't eat the lasses, mind you," he babbled on, "But a demon can do with a warm piece every now and again, if you know what I mean..." He slowly wandered back to the door, and leaned his face in to the control panel, his eyes never leaving Angel. "I just wanted to stop by to see if the rumors were really true, then..." 

He started to speak to the panel, but paused and turned back to Angel once more, "She's not here, you know. The Slayer? They took her two years ago. No one's heard from her since." he turned back to the door, "Spike 1 override!" he said, boldly.

"Password?"

Spike turned once again to sneer at his sire, "Nancyboy." he said snidely.

"Accepted." the door said, and whooshed open. Spike stepped through and disappeared into the hall, leaving Angel to glare angrily after him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[NEXT][1]

   [1]: http://www.fanfiction.net/master.cfm?action=story-read&storyid=13761



	3. Default Chapter Title

_Apocalypse: Sunnydale, Part I Continued_

Once he'd regained his strength, it didn't take Angel long to be busy again. There was plenty of hard work to be done around the city, for those that had the strong backs to do it.

It was a bizarre sensation, stripping his shirt off in the fields for relief from the hot sun. Sometimes he would shield his eyes and just stare at it... a marvel he had never imagined he would experience. He relished the feeling of plunging his hands deep into the cool soil... the strain of his muscles as he dug, and pulled and lifted. He felt connected to the land immediately, in a way he didn't think he ever had as a boy in the rolling green hills of Ireland.

He'd fallen into a comfortable routine of work and play... it was Friday, and he headed home for a wash before Willow would arrive for their weekly "date". They usually tried to do something special and out of the ordinary on weekends: an old movie, or dancing, or some ethnic restaurant or another... Willow called herself his entertainment director. And he adored her for it.

The ways in which she had grown and changed endlessly fascinated him. He saw little hints of strange new qualities about her... wisdom, maturity... moments of complete and utter self-assurance...

But under it all, he could still recognize her shyness... her constant struggle to please... her fear, compounded by years of loss...

Willow was a gifted healer and a Witch of some renown in the community. She had become deeply spiritual over the years, and sometimes in the afternoon, she would come to the fields and fetch him, and they would meditate or practice Tai Chi together under the oak trees as the sun set red behind them.

She had grown from a frightened, vulnerable mouse of a girl to a strong, vulnerable lion of a woman.

That night, when he greeted her at the door, he could tell immediately from the expression on her face that something was wrong.

He sighed deeply, quickly tense. What else could there be? Who was left, now, to care about, other than the two of them? Everyone else they had known and loved was long dead, or gone without a trace...

She clearly had Guilty Face.

"I have to talk to you." She said, pushing past him and marching into the study.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise and followed her.

"Lumiere." he said, and a fire burst to life in the hearth.

Angel found he really enjoyed the little luxuries afforded by a world that used both technology and magick.

He poured them matching snifters of brandy, and sat with his after handing Willow hers.

She noticed Angel had taken to wearing velvets and silks, again. For a while, he would wear only plain cotton.

"I like your shirt." She said.

He brushed the fine black material lightly. "I'm getting softer." he joked.

Willow tried to force a smile, but grimaced, instead.

"Willow, what is it?" he encouraged.

She sighed deeply, and ran a fine hand through her long auburn hair.

"Angel, there's something..." she hesitated, "I'vebeenhidingsomethingfromyousinceyou'vebeenbackandit'sdrivingmecrazyand  
Idon'twantyoutohatemefornottellingyou..."

Her confession came out as one long word, and he put his hand on her arm. "Hey. Calm down. It's okay. What is it? You can tell me."

Willow looked up at him woefully. "I should probably show you." She said.

Angel automatically got up and grabbed his jacket. "Okay, let's go."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Angel knew that abandoned and orphaned children were raised communally on the outskirts of the city, but he had never come this far away from the center of the town before.

This enormous biodome simulated a rural area much like the one where he worked, complete with cows, silos, and neat, endless rows of grain.

He felt free just watching it all rush past them, the fields stained gold with the sunshine. He loved being out this long before sunset, listening to the quiet whir of the electric train they rode as it made its way from the city. The trip brought to mind similar ones he had taken to Dublin with his father as a boy. Of course, they traveled by carriage, then, and young Liam was more eager to _leave_ the narrow countryside he grew up in than go toward it. But the sensation was much the same... the excitement and freedom of going somewhere... else.

Willow's continued silence and tension reminded him that it was possible he was fleeing toward something far more important than a nice change of scenery.

The orphan commune (called "Children's Farm" by the community), looked more like an idyllic New England town than the dark, dungeon-like fortresses where unwanted children were dumped in his youth.

Simple, whitewashed buildings framed an open courtyard, and behind were all the trappings of a farm -- a sprawling main house, a big red barn, milk cows lowing in the field, and chickens scattering everywhere in mortal terror at the sound of the old shepherd dog barking as it chased them across the yard.

Angel felt like he'd walked into a living postcard.

"I'd rather have grown up here than my own home..." he said wistfully, watching children scramble here and there, themselves chased by laughing teenagers and adults.

"Well, I guess we learned something from the war, huh?" Willow said, smiling at him, "We care a lot more about children now, than we used to."

"Wise." he said.

"Evolution." Willow replied. By then, they had arrived at the main house. They climbed the wooden steps, and she looked up at him as she pressed the buzzer.

"There are things I haven't told you..." she said again.

He gave her a look.

"Okay, so I haven't told you much of anything. It's all... it's hard to talk about. But this... " she looked down at the ground, "This is important."

A sweet-looking slip of a teenager opened the door and peered out at them.

"Hi, Tina." Willow said.

The blue eyed girl smiled broadly. "Dr. Harris! Hi!" She said, opening the screen door to let them in.

Willow patted her head as she entered, and the girl rolled her eyes. She looked down at Angel, who stood nervously at the bottom of the steps. "Come on in." she said, without hesitation.

It never stopped amazing him, how his kind were welcomed in this community.

"How are you, T?" Willow asked as they walked to the living room.

"Good. I'm done with 10th year this spring."

"Good for you!" Willow said, "Did you do okay in Quantum Theory?"

The girl grinned. "Thanks to you..."

Willow wrinkled up her nose in delight. Teaching was still what she loved best, no matter what profession the war had steered her to.

"They're in the TV room." Tina went on, then turned to Angel, "I'm Tina, by the way, hi." She offered a daintily manicured hand.

Angel smiled and shook it, noting the pale pink of her nail polish.

_//Nice to see things haven't changed too much... or, at least, teenaged girls haven't...//_

He'd endured an unending parade of fashion experimentation with Buffy when she was young. Hundreds of outfits, dozens of pairs of shoes, thousands of pieces of jewelry, five shades of blonde hair color, and at least fifty kinds of lipstick. He was expected to have an opinion on each. He really hadn't cared... he would have loved her if she was painted with pond scum, and wore a potato sack. He'd go through it all again, if he could... He'd listen to her whine and grouse and complain about how lousy her life was, how hard it was to find just the right this or that to wear, if only he could see her again.

He realized, suddenly, that Tina had left the room while his mind wandered, and Willow sat on the couch, staring at him.

"Sorry." He said.

"It's okay... I..." she got up from her seat and wandered to the window, gazing out over the fields, "I told you what happened to Buffy."

He nodded, struggling against the familiar pang yet again. "She was taken by the Scourge." he said flatly.

Willow nodded.

"There's more?" he asked.

She turned to face him. "I told you about Buffy being taken... but... what I haven't told you is what came before."

Angel waited. Time couldn't move any more slowly for him than it already did. He was never in any hurry.

"We had lives, even after the war started in earnest. Even after the world around us feel apart to the point that even the most blind couldn't ignore it... We still did regular things... celebrated holidays, went to the movies, fell in love...got married..."

Angel knew Willow had. She had married Xander Harris right before he went off to get himself killed at the Battle of Golden Gate in 2006. The same battle from which Angel had been captured, underground, and dragged away to the pits.

"I know, Willow. But I don't..." he began.

She held up her hand to silence him. "Buffy had a life, too. Even when she was fighting, the whole time. Once they destroyed the Initiative, and freed all the soldiers, including Riley, from the drugs the government had given them... Buffy and Riley... they..."

"Got married." Angel finished for her. He wasn't surprised. He remembered the warm, easy rapport he had observed between Buffy and the commando, on the few occasions he had to be around them. And the jealous pain was more like a beating with a club, now, than the slashing with a rapier it might once have been.

"Right... married." Willow agreed, "But, there's more..."

Angel stared at her. A realization started to dawn on him... where they were... why they might be here...

"She had... has..." she corrected herself quickly, "Two children. A boy and a girl. Jeremy and Rhea. She was already pregnant with Jeremy the last time you saw her. He's 12, now. Rhea is 6."

Silence.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I just didn't know how... and... you were so weak..."

"They're here?" he asked weakly.

Willow nodded. "In the next room."

Angel looked at the door. "Can we... can I... see them?"

She smiled. "Of course. That's why I brought you here."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The TV room was brightly decorated, and every flat surface was littered with magazines, comic books, VCR tapes, toys, and video game cartridges. Five children sat around a table, intently playing a three-dimensional board game, whispering and giggling amongst themselves.

Angel knew immediately which two they sought. Jeremy was tall and broad, with a warm, inviting smile and an unruly mop of golden hair... exactly the things he remembered about Riley Finn.

The little girl, Rhea, almost drove him into tears again. She had long, blonde curls and big, misty green eyes, and at the moment, she was pouting so hard, it made Angel's dead heart hurt.

She _was_ Buffy. A perfect, tiny replica of the one person who had ever meant anything to him in his long, miserable life.

He wondered if Slayer powers ran in the blood, as Rhea seemed to sense their entry, and looked up. She regarded he and Willow seriously for a minute before she rose and crossed the room to approach them.

"Hello, Auntie Willow." She said sweetly, but her keen eyes were riveted on Angel.

"Aunt Willow!" The boy bellowed, bolting across the room and shoving his sister out of the way to dive into Willow's waiting arms.

Rhea seemed unfazed by her older brother's outburst, and she patiently turned her full attention to Angel, leaving Willow's entertainment to her obviously capable brother, who was babbling endlessly.

She had to crane her head to look up at him, so he dropped into a crouch and brought them to eye level with one another.

"Who are you?" She asked him seriously.

"I'm Angel." He said.

"My name is Rhea Summers-Finn. Did you know my mommy?"

Angel's heart shattered into a million pieces. "Yes..." he said quietly, "I did. Very well."

"I thought so." Rhea said.

Willow ducked in to save him, "Rhea, why don't you go get your crystal set, and you can show it to Angel?"

The little girl looked up at her Aunt for a moment, then back at him. "It glows... all by itself." she told him.

Angel smiled.

Rhea turned and backed slowly out of the room, never taking her eyes off of Angel's face.

He stared after her, feeling a shiver run down his spine.

"She's got the Sight." Willow told him, "She'll be a fine Spinner, one day..."

Angel nodded at her, but still looked at the now-empty doorway through which little Rhea had disappeared. So pretty... so self-assured, just like her mother...

Suddenly, Jeremy was standing before him, offering his hand. "Hello, sir. I'm Jeremy. It's nice to meet you." He said in his best Company Voice.

Angel brought himself back to reality, and smiled down at the handsome boy. "It's my pleasure." he said, and shook Jeremy's hand heartily.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Willow and Angel spent the entire afternoon with the children, ooh-ing and ahh-ing at their accomplishments, and all of the many possessions they brought out to parade before them for inspection. 

Watching them was the more exhilarating and bizarre experience Angel could remember. It was like gazing into a time bubble, where Riley Finn and Buffy still existed as the children they might once have been.

He was exhausted and flabbergasted by the day's events. In another time, in another world, these might be _his_ children... and there might have been another among them: a dark-haired, curious, intelligent child with a sharp wit and a smart mouth. A small carbon copy of himself to match these others.

"They're amazing." he said to Willow as they boarded the transport back to the city." So much energy..." Only children could be so resilient, when not other creature seemed to be boundless, these days.

"Yes, they are." Willow agreed, watching the farm disappear in the distance behind them.

They walked slowly back to the singles' quarters from the train station, listening to the sounds of the artificial night all around them.

"It sounds so real... it even _smells_ like night. It just amazes me, what you've all built here." Angel said.

Willow smiled sadly. "Buffy was the heart behind this... she'd fight all night, then spend the days in endless meetings, always insisting on little details she thought were most important about the old world... You would have been proud of her."

Angel returned his friend's smile, then reached out and took her hand.

"I am." he said, and looked longingly up at the holographic moon shining down on them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[NEXT][1]

   [1]: http://www.fanfiction.net/master.cfm?action=story-read&storyid=13764



	4. Default Chapter Title

_Apocalypse: Sunnydale, Part I, cont._

In time, Angel discovered, from Willow and from local legend, what had happened to all the other characters in the life he once shared with Buffy. Like his own motley family in Los Angeles, the violent years had taken them, one by one.

Oz had been the first Scooby to go. He was shot in his cage on the second night of a full moon, destroyed by some well-meaning citizen who had stumbled upon his hiding place in the graveyard, and misunderstood its meaning.

Joyce had been next to die. In the flu epidemic of 2004, she had caught a little bug while working in the gardens one afternoon. Two days later, she was dead.

Anya was the first to die in actual battle. Right before Jeremy was born, at home, it had taken an entire squadron of soldiers to keep all of the curious, magickal creatures, and the demons, out for her blood or that of her child, away. A straggler, a Red Cohre demon, had broken through the lines and attacked the house, making it all the way to the second floor landing before Anja set on him. She slit the thing's throat with a shard of mirror glass, which she handily knew was the only thing that would kill it. The fall from the top of the stairs broke her neck.

Riley, and Willow's friend Tara, had been killed together in the first days of the front's arrival in Sunnydale proper. He had been helping her and Willow escape from the city when the first air raid sirens sounded. They never even made it off campus, and Riley had never had a chance to see his daughter.

Xander was killed not long after, in the Great Battle of Golden Gate, which had brought the whole central part of California enough freedom to begin construction of the new underground -- the new civilization they now lived in.

But it was Buffy's story that told itself over and over again in his head. He had crystal clear visuals of her, each time he heard Willow's voice telling the story.

"The Spinners -- they're the magickal warriors, like Carol Blue -- and the Guardians -- the top soldiers, like Buffy and Spike -- take turns patrolling the immediate area around the city twenty-four hours a day. Back then, the demon army still occupied most of the territory, both above and below ground. Buffy joined the Black Ops team -- that's the Underground recon & demolition team Spike belongs to -- and they planned on destroying a particularly large nest under the old statehouse.

Apparently, word got back to Wolfram and the others, and they immediately sent a raiding party to the Black Ops Community, which is outside the city limits. They're there so if they're attacked or arrested, the rest of the community will remain secret and safe. 

Anyway... the raiding party came fully armed with guns and magick, and took most of the team away, including Buffy. We never received any demands from the demons for the team's return, so we... we assume..."

She was dead. That's what Willow was implying. But Angel knew otherwise, in the deepest recesses of his heart. If Buffy were dead, he would undoubtedly feel it in his bones.

So she was still out there, somewhere, as far as he was concerned. And as long as that was true, his hope that he might see her again lived on. It drove him to work harder, and longer, in the fields, to spend more time with Willow and with Buffy's children... He wanted the world to be perfect... as perfect as possible... when she returned.

Months flew by, and soon the climatic generator that regulated the weather in Underground Sunnydale turned, and snow began to fall.

Angel rose at dawn on the first frigid December morning of the first snow storm.

He shuffled out of bed as he always did, meandering into the kitchen for his morning coffee and paper, before he got cleaned up and left for whatever work was needed from him that day. At three, he would meet Jeremy and Rhea at school, and walk them to Willow's in time for tea at four. From there until dinnertime, he would spend a couple of hours with them, and then it was off to his various committee meetings: Food & Shelter, Historical, and Defense Committee. He itched to be more active in the Defense Department, but his status as a former POW placed him on indefinite leave, making it impossible for him to take up arms again.

In mid-thought, he stopped short, and looked out the window, paper in one hand and coffee in the other.

It was _snowing._ Big, fluffy flakes that floated down out of the synthetic sky and piled by the billions, blanketing the ground in pristine white.

He stared at it. Angel hadn't seen snow since... 1998, the night he had tried to kill himself. Buffy had done her best to save him... to convince him that he was _worth_ saving... that he belonged in the world. But it had really been the sudden snowstorm that spared his pathetic life.

Even when he spent all those years in Upper Washington, he never once saw the legendary snowfall there. Prisoners were never allowed to see the outside, even in pictures or vids...

He set down his breakfast materials and slid on his worn, heavy work-boots and his warmest coat.

The first flake that hit him as he went out the front door simply sat at the tip of his nose for a long moment before it melted away. Vampires weren't much good at defrosting things...

He looked all around his now-familiar neighborhood. The sun had only just begun to rise, and its soft, newborn light cast a warm glow over everything, and made the blanket of snow twice as blinding in its perfect white-ness.

Angel remembered his last snowfall clearly... not just the hauntings or the pain he felt that the First might have brought him back from Hell to kill Buffy... he remembered looking out over the twinkling lights of the city on Christmas morning... he remembered Buffy's tears as she begged him not to give up... But most of all, he remembered this. The deep grey that blotted out the sun he had wanted to take him; and the pure, wet feeling of snow on his skin and under his feet as he and Buffy had walked through it, hand-in-hand.

So many things had changed, since then... so much about his life, and about he, himself.

He looked out across the town, now a perfect picture of frozen wonder, and wondered if it snowed where Buffy was. And if it did, if she ever got to see it.

"Bloody great thing, winter." Spike said from beside him, "All those fat squirrels and chipmunks... the chubby, fuzzy little bunny rabbits, all nestled up in their cozy little holes like bottomless seasonal snack machines. Brilliant, really. Better than the Quickie Mart."

Angel looked up at him. Luckily, Spike's Black Ops work kept him away from the Community often, and for extended periods. To say he didn't enjoy his childe's company was akin to saying he didn't enjoy a stake through the heart.

But this morning, he felt sentimental and melancholy, so he let Spike's comments slide. He knew full well the vampire was more of a law-abiding citizen than he liked to admit. And since killing what little wildlife populated their underground world was a banishable offense, he sincerely doubted that Spike would be willing to risk his popular standing in the community for a quick snack.

Spike plunked down beside him on the porch swing.

"I always ask them, 'California never had a winter before... that was one of the things I loved about it. Why now?' " he said.

"It helps the fields to produce more when they're allowed to lay dormant for a few months every year." Angel told him, and sipped his coffee.

Spike leered at him, "Well, listen to Farmer Bob..." he drawled.

Angel shrugged, his special mood still unaffected by Spike's attempts to goad him. "It's my job." he said simply.

The two vampires sat, watching the sun rise.

"It's a kick, isn't it?" Spike said quietly, "Watching the sun rise? I never realized I missed it..."

Angel's head snapped around to look at him in shock. "When did you get sentimental?" he asked.

Spike looked irritated and embarrassed. "Hey! I never said I wasn't fond of this little rock we live on." he snapped, "Besides. You put your immortal ass on the line for a place often enough, and you get... rather attached to it."

Angel sighed, but said nothing. He knew how that felt, as California had become his home, too. And he had risked his life a thousand times, to save it... given up everything... Including Buffy. Including a chance at precious mortality...

But no matter how much he had grown to love this place and his part in it, it just wasn't truly home, without her there.

"I talked to General Miller about getting you in to Black Ops." Spike said suddenly.

Angel looked back at him again, "And?" He'd been trying to join the raiding units for months, figuring it would be the best way for him to help find Buffy.

"No go. Says you're too _battle-weary_." he snorted, "And you've got a job, and a family. They don't want to risk you again."

Angel scowled. He hated feeling like the elders thought of him as some decrepit invalid veteran.

"Sorry, mate." Spike said, almost sounding sincere.

Angel said nothing, but continued to stare out over the white-washed landscape. The swing creaked as Spike got up to leave.

"Maybe try again when the pups are older, eh?" he suggested.

Silence, still, from Angel. But his disappointment was almost tangible in the cold air.

"She's probably dead, you know." Spike went on, "The DF don't fool around with high level operatives. She was dangerous, to them. As an icon as much as a soldier..."

Angel raised his eyes to him. "She's not dead." he said flatly.

Spike shrugged. "I don't think so, either. Can't kill that Slayer... believe me, I've _tried_. You have, too. So..." he walked down the first couple of steps and stopped once more, "I just keep my eyes open. Just in case." he said.

Angel watched him disappear into the thick, snowy morning, and found himself surprised at Spike's words. How much so many things had changed....

He looked up at the Heavens... at the roof of the biodome, and wondered if the Powers could hear prayers from five miles underground.

At least someone was still out there, looking for her...

[PART II][1]

   [1]: http://www.fanfiction.net/master.cfm?action=story-read&storyid=13766



	5. Default Chapter Title

_**Part II**_  
**_Underground Sunnydale, May, 2017_**

Angel mopped his brow and stood to survey the land he tended. They learned more every season about growing underground... and the crops showed it. His seeds were planted and watered, and in a few months there would be corn, wheat, and cotton in these fields, for as far as the eye could see. Long, thick rows of living things he had raised with his bare hands...

For the first time in his considerable life, there was nothing around him that Angel wasn't proud to be a part of.

He could feel the sun begin to set behind him - a talent he hadn't lost, although this sun was artificial... Now it was his cue to quit for the day and go to dinner.

Angel had to give up tea time, during planting season. His schedule ran from dawn to dusk when there was so much to do. Willow and the kids understood, and knew they could always count on the fact that he would spend the rest of the evening with them, once the work was done.

It was a good life. He had friends who cared about him, responsibilities to fulfill, a home...He was respected in the community for his service and hard work, and most of all, he was needed.

As he walked back to the house, Angel thought about how far he'd come... all the many roles he had played over the years... from the bottom of the demon barrel to the top of the human world... at least, top of the underground.

And now he was a father, too. Jeremy and Rhea had adopted him immediately, and taken it upon themselves to teach him everything there was to know about being a child... and a role model... Feelings he had long since forgotten...

In all of his fondest dreams, he never considered the possibility that he might, someday, have a family to raise. And yet, there they were. Sweet, brilliant, fantastic, beautiful children -- Buffy's children. Every time he looked at them, he could see her... Jeremy was full of her mischievous streak and had her whip-like, sardonic humor. Rhea was like her physical carbon copy, complete with the twinkle in her eye and the full-faced smile.

Angel loved them with all of his heart, and in a way, he felt that showing his love for the children was a way to continue to show his love for her.

Some part of him still believed she would come back. After four years, the official hope was beginning to diminish, and the raids seemed less like a search for P.O.W.'s, and more like busy work for the Black Ops teams.

The Demon Forces were laying low, these days. No new attacks in over a year, even on the psychic plane. They seemed to pull farther and farther back every day, toward the north or the far south, depending on their temperature preference. There was talk among some humans of returning to the surface. Of course, that was impossible. The air was barely breathable for more than brief periods, and the ground would be useless for planting for possibly hundreds of years. They were better off where they were.

Angel was all for the press of progress. HE helped the community work toward it, every day. But underneath it all, his only fear was that all the demons would disappear, and the army would stop looking for any more prisoners to rescue. He was afraid they would give up on Buffy before she was found.

Willow was the only one who understood and supported his conviction that Buffy was still alive. She always said that the surest tie to Buffy's life essence was he himself. If something horrible happened to Buffy, he would surely know.

Angle had started to doubt that himself in the past year. What if they weren't that connected anymore? What if all the years and their respective pain had dulled them to one another? What if something had happened to her when he was in prison, out of his senses? He might not have been able to feel her, then...

No. Even when he was in Hell, he could still feel her. She was still alive, he knew it. The hope of seeing her smile again was sometimes the only thing that got him through the hardest days...

It was a good life, but he still missed her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rhea turned 7 on May 21st. Birthdays were celebrated in grand style in the Community, and there was little chance the daughter of the City's most beloved hero would rate any less than a carnival in the truest sense.

The entire block nearest the Town Square was cordoned off, and bedecked with decorations... Chinese lanterns, colorful flags and streamers, and the sounds of happy laughter and music in the air.

Angel walked through he crowds, smiling at the revelry. He hadn't seen anything like this... well, since the last children's birthday party. The market tables had packed up and moved down here from the main square, and were giving wares away for free to ensure that everyone got a gift. Free hot dogs and fried dough, free soda, lemonade, and beer. Some enterprising soul had even set up a bar, which was quickly packed with the pro-drinking set. They hunched over their liquor as they talked amongst themselves.

There were all kinds of folk, living down here. As long as you pulled your own weight and didn't break any laws, the community never judged the behavior of its members.

Good thing, considering the crowd was dotted with vampires and other demons, all come out for the party.

In life, there was nothing Angel had enjoyed more than a fair. The lights, the noise, the horrendously unhealthy junk food... He loved the atmosphere of carefree joy that so perfectly matched his irrepressible personality as a young man.

_//I must be getting really old.//_ he thought. He found himself more likely than ever to slip into quiet reminiscing... Although he was almost happier now than he had ever been, he still had a tendency to wander back to "Then".

The birthday carnival evoked those old nostalgic feelings again, and he found his joy at the festivities for Rhea's birthday was softened somewhat, by the melancholy that snuck up on him.

He wasn't at all startled by Willow's hand seemingly coming out of nowhere and settling into the crook of his arm. Walking together had become a familiar habit, and she fell into pace with his long stride easily.

He looked down at her and smiled. She was a breathtaking woman... her skin still smooth and soft, and her eyes still full of kindness and innocent wonder. The only hint that she might be older than she seemed were the streaks of silver that peppered her long, deep auburn hair. She often wore it in a tight bun when she worked, but tonight it hung loose around her shoulders, with only the top held away from her face by a green barrette.

Her sweet smile had become like a blessing on his already fulfilled days, and her strong hand in his had become a foundation stone of his new life.

"Enjoying the party?" She asked, smiling warmly up at him.

"I'll never get used to this..." he said, "I haven't been able to get near Rhea all night."

"Well, we are celebrating her... it's only right that she be _celebrated_. Especially since..." she hesitated, looking down at the ground as they walked.

He knew exactly what she left unsaid. He slid his arm up and over her fine shoulders and gave her a squeeze. "I wish she were here to see this, too." he said quietly, "Every birthday is an important milestone... especially for Rhea and Jeremy."

Willow nodded and quickly wiped a tear that had escaped her eye with her free hand.

They walked with their arms around one another, in familiar, sad silence.

"Speaking of milestones," she said finally, "Jeremy is going to be 13 next month."

Angel smiled, "I know."

Willow looked up at him sheepishly. "I think... maybe... it's, uh... it's time he had... you know... the talk?"

Angel stopped and looked at her. "What talk?" he asked, confused.

Willow blushed. "_The_ Talk. About... man things."

Angel slumped a little. He hadn't even considered it.

"I talked to him... you know... about the physical stuff... what they learn in school... puberty... protection, abstinence and all that... but... I think maybe there should be a man-to-man, too. About... the other stuff."

Ideas flew through Angel's mind so quickly, he could hardly keep track of a single one. There were so many things he could tell the boy...

"You're right. I guess someone should... I mean, _I_ should..." Angel said.

"You are the closest thing he has to a father." Willow went on, "He adores you. If you talk to him... about the emotional stuff... he'll respect what you say, and I think he'll take it more seriously than if it came from me... or anybody else..."

Angel nodded, took her hand, and began to walk again.

"Okay. I'll talk to him this weekend." he said.

"Good." Willow approved.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The night was like magick. Warm and clear, and filled with the joyous sounds of celebration all around them. One could almost forget that the night sky was a hologram on the biodome roof, the stars were so bright.

She and Angel had stolen away from the party after the gifts were presented to Rhea. It was almost 10 p.m., and families were slowly wandering off toward home, leaving only those more inclined to party behind. The birthday girl was having a giant sleepover, at the Children's Farm, leaving Angel and Willow free, as well.

They climbed up the grassy hill that looked over the square, and sat down. Willow curled her legs up underneath her, and Angel clasped his bent knees in his arms, and they looked quietly out over the hoopla.

"Definitely a hootenanny..." Willow said, and pulled a bottle of champagne out of her bag.

Angel grinned at her. "Did you _steal_ that, Harris?"

She handed him the bottle. "Of course not. I had it smuggled in from the East Coast."

"Ah." He chuckled, and popped the cork. The foam bubbled over, and Angel laughed as he avoided the mess. Willow laughed with him, then magickally produced a pair of plastic cups out of her seemingly bottomless bag.

"Viola!" she said, and held them out to him.

Angel smiled as he filled the cups, and then took one. "That's my Willow. Always prepared..." he said.

Willow held up her glass. "To Rhea Summers-Finn. May she have many more... But maybe not as many as you."

"Here here!" He said heartily, and tapped her glass with his own.

They sipped their champagne in companionable silence. Soft music floated up the hill to them... a perfect, happy sound track to a perfectly warm moment. 

"I love this song..." Willow said happily as the first notes of an old country tune reached them.

Angel looked over at her, and smiled once again. She looked so beautiful in the early summer moonlight...

"Would you like to dance?" he asked her.

Willow smiled broadly. "I would love to." she said.

Angel got to his feet and offered his hand to help her up. Dancing had never been one of his favorite activities, at least not in the modern sense, but he still had some skill with a slow waltz...

He proved his worth as he took Willow in his arms the old fashioned way, and she leaned comfortably into him as they swayed to the music.

Willow breathed his clean scent, and the sweet night air deep into her lungs. Nights like this could almost make the past twenty years fade into a hazy mist...

Angel swung her around, and she squealed with delight. He loved to make her smile, and did whatever he could, as often as he could, to make it happen.

He couldn't remember ever feeling so fulfilled... so free. Hardly a worry invaded his mind, letting the cotton soft moment surround them like an old blanket. He didn't think he had been so happy in a very long time, and neither did she. 

Willow pulled back a little, and beamed up at him. "You're smiling." she observed.

He nodded. "I'm happy."

Her own smile grew, "Not perfectly, I hope..." she joked.

Angel actually laughed. He wasn't afraid of Angelus... not anymore... "Almost..." he said.

Their eyes met, and their slow swaying ceased as they stared into one another's face.

Willow felt a little shiver run through her at his intense gaze. She felt like a girl again, suddenly, shy and unsure as she hadn't been in decades. Her breath caught in her throat, and her heart pounded.

Angel caressed her face with his eyes, and held his own breath as he moved closer to her. The journey seemed to be a million miles, and took a million years, until his lips at last touched hers, faintly... hesitantly.

Willow instantly felt filled with warmth, and pulled him closer, tangling her hands in his thick hair.

Angel felt as through he were falling as he kissed her, gently holding her face in his big hands.

After a moment, they parted. Angel continued looking down at her, so giddy, he almost could have done a jig, if he wasn't nailed to the spot where he stood.

Willow's eyes were still closed and cast down. It took a few seconds for her to gather her breath and her courage enough to look up at him again.

The soft, gentle look on his handsome features sent a jolt through her. This was the face Buffy saw in her mind, every minute of every day, even when she was married to Riley. The strong arms wrapped around Willow... the deep, soulful eyes... the sweet half-smile... all of these things belonged to Buffy.

She felt like someone had dropped a cartoon anvil on her head, and squashed her flat. She pulled away, leaving Angel suddenly very confused.

"I... I have to go... um... I have to go to ... there." she mumbled, turned, and bolted down the hill and into the crowd.

Angel was so shocked, he could do nothing but watch her go, her long skirt flying behind her as she ran away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**_[NEXT][1]_**

   [1]: http://www.fanfiction.net/master.cfm?action=story-read&storyid=13767



	6. Default Chapter Title

Apocalypse: Sunnydale, Part II cont.

Wednesday night council meetings were usually pretty dull. All of the community members were invited to attend, once a month, to discuss issues relevant to all of the citizens of the Underground. Usually, matters of groundskeeping and zoning were the hottest topics, plus arguments between neighbors brought forward for arbitration and discussions of community celebrations. The first hours of the gatherings were reserved for the REALLY boring stuff, enclave reporting on crop yields, energy output, educational reports, and discussion of law, crime, and consensus action.

This meeting didn't appear to Angel to be developing any differently. After his work collective gave their planting reports, other business went on as usual, and he was able to let his mind wander to other things...

Like just what the Hell he was going to say to Jeremy when he took him to the softball game on Saturday.

What wisdom did he really have to impart to a human boy about manhood? He wasn't even a man. The heady responsibility of being the one to set this boy -- essentially, his son -- on the road to happy, responsible adulthood gave him a fit every time he thought about it.

_//Okay... Stay calm. You're an intelligent, even-keeled demon, just think. What did your father say to you?//_

Fergus O'Connor had never said much more to undisciplined young Liam than: "Get a job, you worthless layabout!", "I don't want to hear ya come crying when you get the Syphilis!", and, "Donna be beggin' me for money when you bang up one of those low tramps you run about with, you!"

Not exactly the wisdom he had in mind for his own son.

Angel cleared his head of thoughts of his long-dead father, a trick 100 years of meditation practice made relatively easy. That accomplished, he began to make a mental list of things he had learned in his interactions with humans -- women, in particular -- that had helped him to get by over the centuries.

Respect and honor. Those were the two things he thought would be most important for Jeremy to know when dealing with humans of both genders. Especially women. Human life -- humanity, itself -- was precious, and in these dark days, even more so. And women remained, above all else, the bearers of life. A very important thing. 

Patience. That was another imperative character trait. The boy _was_ Buffy, through and through, always hurtling from one moment to the next with little thought for tomorrow, or even the next minute. Angel didn't want him to learn about consequences the way his mother had -- the hard way. Or, more accurately, the near-fatal and psychologically eviscerating, way.

Good. That was a start. Maybe this wouldn't be so hard, after all.

The director of the Stone Masons and the head of the Memorial Committee stood, indicating that they had an issue to raise for community discussion. The funeral director's presence made everyone uncomfortable -- it was usually an indication that someone (or someone's) had died, or were about to die, and funeral arrangements had to be made.

The two men leaving their seats brought Angel immediately back to the present. He was surprised to see them -- very little happened in the community of some 5,000 beings that didn't immediately spread like wildfire throughout, and Angel hadn't heard about anyone dying or becoming seriously ill or injured. It had been so long since the demons withdrew, it was rare for the injured or newly freed to come here to die anymore, either.

He paid strict attention, hoping he would soon have some answer for his confusion.

Alaya, this meeting's moderator, acknowledged the men, and they quickly introduced themselves, uncomfortable under the scowling scrutiny of those gathered in the meeting hall.

"The ground has thawed completely, and the weather has cleared once again. We believe it is time to begin work on the War Memorial."

A pained hush fell over those present. Angel felt a tight squeezing begin in his chest.

"It's time to close the MIA cases." the Defense Leader, an enormous Shalak demon, said, "It has been over two years since the last Prisoner of War returned, and almost as long since the last camp was liberated. I believe we need to put the last of the dead to rest, for the good of their families, and for the entire community."

Silence. Not even a whisper. Angel could hear a hundred slow, mournful heartbeats, and labored breathing.

The moderator, and the Elder's Council, began whispering among themselves. Angel focused intently, trying to use his supernaturally keen hearing to discern their discussion. Of course, the Elders had nothing to hide, really. The whispering was merely a formality, a show of respect, and to spare the Council Members cold discussions about the possible fate of their loved ones -- and the fact that they might soon be declared dead without anyone ever knowing their _true_ fate.

Angel felt years of memories wash over him, as though he were caught in some rising high tide. He remembered the first time he saw Buffy... the first time he took her strong, little hand in his own... He remembered the first time he kissed her, and the first time he told her he loved her, and she said it in return. HE remembered the first time, and the last time, they made love. And he remembered their final, tense meeting, in battle, 15 years ago.

"The elders believe this matter is best put to a common vote." Alaya said, "The families and friends of the missing should determine their ultimate fate. Should the vote say yay, the MIA files will be closed, and the memorial project will commence as soon as possible. If nay, we will continue Special Operations searches as usual. Is everyone prepared for a vote?"

A hum of affirmation filed the room, and the official vote-counters rose and stepped forward to perform their duty.

Angel wished Willow was there beside him. Out of loyalty, and his continued hope that Buffy was still alive, he was inclined to vote nay to closing the MIA files. But his head, and his heart, knew it was time for the community -- and he and his family -- to move on. It was time to give all these mourning hearts some badly needed closure.

"A binding full council vote has been brought to the table." Alaya said formally, "Shall the community of Sunnydale close its list of those missing in action, and begin construction of the war memorial? Please raise you hand if you vote yes."

Angel looked down at the old, worn claddaugh ring on his finger. Once more, his head filled with Buffy's sunshine smile.

After a moment, with tears in his eyes to match those of his neighbors all around him, Angel raised his hand, and said a final goodbye to his one true love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He took nearly an hour to walk the short distance from the Council hall to Willow's house. She had made herself scarce since Rhea's carnival the week before... since their stolen kiss. She came late for dinner, when she came at all, and had cancelled tea every day, saying she was too busy.

He knew what had passed between them confused her. He knew she needed time to sort out the complicated relationship they shared.

But tonight, he needed her. Needed to mourn with the only living person who really knew Buffy.

The house was dark when he arrived, and he could see the children's bedroom on the first floor was empty, indicating they had gone to spend the night at the Farm.

'Good.' he thought, as he climbed the stairs, 'I don't think I could handle telling them this, tonight...'

Willow's bedroom door was ajar, and he could see the outline of her sleeping form, curled up in a tight ball under the covers. He felt a little shiver run the length of his spine at the realization of how fiercely he'd come to rely on her as the one sure thing that remained of his old life... the one person, in all the world, who remembered who he once was, and how he had come to be here, now.

He stood in the doorway, watching her deep, even breathing. Her hair splayed out over her pillows, obscuring her pretty face in a silver-streaked, titian waterfall.

Angel realized, with a sudden flash he could almost call an epiphany, that he loved her. Not in the searing, gut-wrenching, soul-deep way he'd loved her best friend, but in a simpler, almost deeper way. Willow was his touchstone... His centre, along with the children. If it had not been for her, he would not be the contented, happy man he was today. Without her, he would never have had the strength to let Buffy go.

He only hoped that Willow would be as prepared as he had been.

He walked slowly to the bed, and sat down on its edge. He looked down at her, and gave in to the sudden urge to reach out and bush her hair away from her face. When he did, he saw that her full, pink lips wore a little smile.

Seeing that, he hesitated. Perhaps it would be better to leave this until tomorrow... let her keep her happy dreams...

But no sooner had he decided to leave, then her eyelids fluttered open, and she smiled sleepily as she realized he was there.

"Hi." she said softly.

Angel looked deeply into her eyes, trying his hardest to keep control... to keep from breaking down like a lost, terrified child in her warm arms. Willow had been strong for him when he hadn't even had the energy or will to rise in the morning. Now it was his turn...

She noticed his pained expression, and slowly sat up.

"Angel... I'm... I'm sorry. For avoiding you all week. I'm just..." she looked away, "I'm really confused. This is... so much... I don't... understand... the way I feel about you. And when you kissed me..." her voice drifted off, and she looked back into his sweet, familiar face.

He sighed softly. "Willow, you don't have to apologize. I do. I shouldn't have... I mean, we should have talked about things, first. I should have thought..." and he too lapsed again into silence, plunged into the memory of why he was here, and for the first time, realized what the night of the carnival had truly meant. Buffy must be dead... and his heart, though forever marked by knowing her, was moving on.

Willow watched his eyes glaze over and his lips frown, and a new fear came over her.

"You didn't come here to talk about us..." she observed.

He shook his head. "No. Not exactly. There's... something else."

Her eyes flew open wide in terror, "Not the children..."

"No, no." he said quickly, "They're fine."

"Then... what?" she searched his face for a sign. 

Angel was unable to meet her eyes. After a moment, another realization dawned on her, "The Council meeting... Angel, what happened?"

Almost overcome by the pain of what he was about to say, Angel squeezed his eyes tightly shut, fighting for strength and control yet again.

"There was... a vote... brought to the table tonight. By the... Memorial Committee." he said weakly.

Willow felt her heart lurch in her chest. "But... they... they were going to wait... They weren't going to build the memorial until all the MIA's and POW's were accounted for..." her voice cracked, desperate.

He nodded. "The vote included a referendum to declare the remaining missing..."

"_DEAD_?!" She cried, "They're _NOT DEAD! _They can't DO that! _BUFFY'S NOT DEAD!_ " Her voice shattered at the last, and she collapsed, sobbing into his arms.

He rocked her tenderly, placing little kisses into her hair. "I know... I..." he closed his eyes once again, "It was time... it's been six years..."

"No..." Willow cried weakly into his chest, "Nononononononononono...." She shook her head wildly, clutching at him.

Angel finally lost his reserve, and began sobbing right along with her. "I had to... We have to... we have to let her go, Willow. For the kids... for us... We have to. She's not coming back. She's gone." he was babbling senselessly, now, desperately trying to convince himself as much as her that he had done the right thing. He allowed the pain of knowing he would never see the face of the woman who had saved his life... his heart and his soul... ever again crush him like a tidal wave. He clutched Willow to him, hoping that her warm body could keep him from washing away...

It seemed hours that they held one another, and cried. The river of tears slowly became a stream, and then a trickle... the pain had exhausted them both into near numbness. Angel sat with his eyes closed, just listening to her heart beat.

After a moment, she sat up, still in his strong embrace, and looked into his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Angel." she said, "I know how much you loved her."

His heart broke. Willow was the kindest, most selfless soul he had ever known, bar none. Even in the face of her own grief, she was thinking of him, and his pain.

He slowly reached up and brushed a tear away from her soft cheek, and looked deeply into her sad brown eyes. Of all the people in all the world he had known, there was no one else he would have been able to share this pain with... no one else who would understand. There was no one left alive who knew him better. Maybe there was no one who had before, at all... who never judged who he was or who he had been... no one else who asked nothing of him but that he exist, and truly be himself.

Willow blinked as he slowly moved toward her, and gasped involuntarily when his cool lips touched her own warm ones. She hesitated for a split second, and then returned the kiss.

The feeling of her warmth, her living, glorious warmth, so close to him sent a shudder through his body... the kiss became harder... deeper... Angel could hear her heart pounding.

Willow tangled her hands in his careless hair and plunged headlong into the desire that shrieked through her. It had been so long since she'd been with anyone... so many lonely years... the only ease had been Angel's company...

There was no one else left, now. No one left in all the world they had loved, but one another. There was no more hope... only this... this desperate longing, this incredible sadness... and the love that had grown between them.

Willow tore off his light jacket and tee shirt, and pushed him back onto the bed. He didn't resist. In fact, her assertiveness only made him want her more. He devoured her ruthlessly, desperately reaching for her, needing her to fill the void left suddenly within him.

Angel flipped her over and shredded her nightshirt, assaulting her fair, freckled skin with his hands and his mouth... Her lips were so sweet. her skin, like salted silk as he licked her. He didn't think he had ever needed anything as frantically as he need her, right at this moment.

"I love you, Willow..." he whispered into her ear, "I need you so much..."

She sighed, and pulled him closer, "I love you, too, Angel." she said.

The artificial night sang softly around them, and the starlight lit their tear-stained faces as they made love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[NEXT][1]

   [1]: http://www.fanfiction.net/master.cfm?action=story-read&storyid=13768



	7. Default Chapter Title

_Apocalypse: Sunnydale, Part II cont._

The pounding on the door woke him from a peaceful, exhausted slumber. His eyes snapped open as the sound registered, and he was almost surprised to find Willow sleeping in his arms. he smiled, and for a moment, was overcome with a feeling of pure, unadulterated joy at the memory of what they had shared last night.

But only a moment. In the next breath, he remembered what had brought him here, in the first place.

Buffy was dead.

Angel was startled back to reality when the pounding resumed, followed by the shouting:

"Oy! Harris! Willow, are you alright, in there?"

Spike. Never before in the almost 200 years he had known the vampire, had he wanted to see him less.

Trying not to wake Willow, Angel reached for his clothes and got out of bed, dressing quickly. He quietly shut the door behind him, bolted down the stairs, and threw open the front door, enraged.

"_WHAT _do you _WANT_!?!" Angel snapped at him, "WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH YOU?"

Spike blinked. Of all the gruesome things he'd expected to find at the good doctor's house, the last was his squishy-hearted sire, all bed headed and in his jammies. Spike cocked a wry eyebrow at him.

"Well. Well, well, well." he said, and pushed his way past Angel. "It's about bloody time."

Angel reached out and grabbed Spike by the collar and spun him around.

"I asked you a question." He spat in his childe's face.

Spike leered at him, "I came to see _WILLOW_." he said.

Angel growled softly and clenched his teeth, "She's _sleeping_."

"No she's not." Willow said, coming down the stairs in her tattered old bathrobe, her hair carelessly pulled back in a messy ponytail. Her eyes were red and shadowed, and a bewildered expression framed her face.

Angel let Spike go, and both vampires stared at her.

"Hi Spike." she said softly, but sincerely.

A look angel had never seen before swept across Spike's face. He stepped forward and placed a porcelain white hand with black-painted fingernails on Willow's thin shoulder. He looked down at her sadly.

"I heard about the Council Vote." he said, "The Slayer..."

Willow nodded, tears immediately springing to her eyes.

Angel stood frozen, dumbfounded by Spike's genuine display of warmth and compassion. Willow seemed to bring out the best in everyone...

"Hey. Oh, there... don't..." Spike said, tensing noticeably for a moment as she grabbed him and began sobbing into his shoulder. He looked helplessly at Angel, but his tortured eyes were still trained on Willow.

Spike shrugged, and put his arms around her. He loved her, in his evil, soulless, demon way. She had always been kind to him... at least when he hadn't been doing his damndest to kill her... She'd always encouraged him and supported him, and had, strangely enough, become his friend.

"Oh, God. I'm sorry." Willow said, letting Spike go and mopping at her face, "I have to stop this. The kids will be home soon." Her eyes shot to Angel, who still stood by the front door. "Oh, god, Angel... what are we going to tell the kids?"

Angel finally shook off his stupor, and came to stand beside her, putting his arm protectively around her shoulder.

"I don't know." he said, and took her fully into his arms, where she stood quietly, held against his still chest.

Spike fidgeted uncomfortably. "Can I... is there... anything I can do?" he asked.

Angel looked morosely at him and shook his head. Willow had once again begun to cry softly. He looked off into space, leaning his cheek on the top of her head.

Spike nodded, saying nothing else as he left. Even he knew when to make a graceful exit. With the Slayer gone, and what appeared to be a new relationship growing between the Witch and his Sire, he figured they had a lot to work out.

Spike almost felt sorry for the poor, suffering bastard. Almost.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The afternoon was sunny and clear, when the community gathered for the unveiling of the memorial at the center of Town Hall Park. Beautiful oak trees had been planted, ad benches placed all around the monument, making it the perfect place to sit and remember all of those they had lost...t he heroes who gave their lives so that the world might remain theirs, and not become a branch office of Hell.

Angel stood with one arm around Willow, and held Rhea's tiny hand in his free one. Jeremy stood on the other side, proud and strong. He had shaken off Willow's offer to hold his hand, but as they stood there, listening to the speeches and the memories shared out loud by their neighbors, he leaned into her, laying his golden head on her shoulder, like the boy he truly was, talk or no.

Willow smiled sadly down at him, and kissed him lightly on the top of the head, giving him a squeeze.

No one cried. Angel felt like all of the tears had already been sucked out of him over the past few years, until he had nothing left inside him. It was as though all of the color had run out of his world, along with his hope for Buffy's return.

He looked next to him, at his lover. She had lost weight in the past three months, and she took pills sometimes, to help her sleep. Every smile she gave him seemed thin and empty. He knew the feeling intimately.

At least they still had one another. In time, they knew the pain would ease, and they would _still _have each other to turn to. Of all of the horror of the past 20 years, at least they would come away with that.

Willow smiled up at him, her eyes also dry. He returned the gesture.

"Does anyone else have anything they'd like to say before we unveil the memorial?" Johnson Stewart, the leader of the Memorial Committee, said.

Willow gave Angel and Jeremy a final squeeze, and stepped forward to the podium. Angel put his arms around both kids and pulled them close to him. They were sad, too, but it was different. Their mother had been dead for them for most of their lives... she had disappeared the minute she left their lives, and Willow and Angel were now the only parents they knew.

She stood in front of the podium, and surveyed the huge crowd that filled the park. So many faces... and every one showed the scars of having the name of a friend or a loved one up on that wall...

"My name is Willow Rosenburg Harris... many of you know me from my work with the Healers, and with the Children's Farm. I have lived in this community since the first day it was liberated from Demon occupation. But I have lived in Sunnydale my entire life. I have watched the battles grow, and then fade once again, since this town was still a sleepy suburb built on top of a Hellmouth. I have been here from the beginning, and I, or someone from my family, have known and cared about every one of the people whose names are carved in this wall..."

She turned and searched the hundreds of names, until she came to the first that she recognized.

"Cordelia Chase." she read, "Cordelia and I went to high school together, from second grade on. We weren't friends... in fact, we couldn't stand each other. But we fought, side by side, anyway. Cordelia was beautiful and essentially, kind..." she smiled at Angel, "She was the only person I have ever known who was never afraid to speak her mind."

"Daniel Osbourne. Oz." she said, feeling her throat tighten a little, "He was... a werewolf, in the days when that was a dangerous thing to be. He lived his life with brilliant good humor, and a song in his heart... he was... my friend."

She went on, speaking about Xander, her childhood friend and eventually, husband... about his growth from a loud-mouthed, awkward youth to the smiling, stalwart champion he had been when he died. She talked about Giles, and all of the things he'd meant to her and her friends. She even listed Doyle among the long list of her friends and classmates who had disappeared or died, like Larry and Jonathan, Percy and Harmony, Riley and Forest... Tara...

There was only one name left on the list. Willow looked to where Angel stood, holding the children.

"Buffy Summers-Finn." she said, "She was... the Slayer. And my closest friend for almost twenty years. All of you knew her... or at least have heard of her... some of you..." her eyes came to rest once more on Angel, "knew her as well as I did."

Angel could barely hear Willow's words any longer -- he had found the well where his tears had been hiding, and they spilled forth once again, threatening to wash him away. Willow spoke about sleepovers and demon-killing, about shopping and exorcisms, about the children, and about how Buffy felt about the community, itself.

"In the end, she was an example for all of us. A woman willing to sacrifice anything, and everything to make the world safe for her friends... her children..." her voice broke, and tears began to stream down her cheeks, "Thank you, Buffy... for being my friend... for all of this... We will never forget..." She broke down, leaning hard against the podium. Angel asked Jeremy to watch Rhea, and ran forward to support her as she fell apart.

Carol Blue, the old Spinner who had first found Angel outside Buffy's decimated home all those years ago, stepped out of the crowd as Angel led Willow away. she lay one kind hand on his broad back, and another on Willow's thin, shaking one.

"That was beautiful, dear." She said, "She would have been honored. And proud, to see all that you have done with what she started..."

Angel smiled sadly at her. "Thank you, Carol. For everything." he said.

The old woman smiled fondly at the handsome vampire, reminded once again of her own long-lost son. "Why don't you let me take the children to the Farm? The two of you should take some quiet time for yourselves."

Willow nodded, whuffling pitifully. "That's very kind of you, Carol... but only if it's not too much trouble."

Carol smiled. She liked these young people. They were very different from the pictures the stories painted of them... the mysterious souled vampire and the powerful Witch -- both fabled friends of the Slayer they had just paid tribute to.

But they were three-dimensional, multi-faceted people that couldn't be captured in any fairy tale. The way the vampire seemed to use his whole body to shield her... the way she leaned into him as if his arms were the only safe place in the world...

_//Ah, to be in love again... But those days are long past, for me...//_

She patted Willow and smiled gently at Angel, before walking away to find Jeremy and Rhea.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Angel entered the room quietly, in case Willow was asleep. But she simply lay in the bed staring forlornly off into space. She brightened a little when she saw him, and scooted over to make room for him to sit beside her. He did, and Willow lay her head in his lap.

"You know, the first time I met her, Cordelia was insulting me." Willow said wistfully, "I ran away. I was so... timid... small... But Buffy changed all that. She changed everything for me."

Angel thought about what she said for a moment. "For me, as well..." he agreed.

Willow turned over to look at him. "How do you mean?"

He looked off into the distance, remembering as he spoke. "When I first got my soul back, I flew Europe for America. I was... crippled, really... useless. I lived on the streets, just wasting away, torturing myself... waiting to die. Then this demon, The Whistler, came to me and said that I had a chance to make something of myself. To pay some retribution... to do some good... He said he had something to show me..."

"Buffy?" Willow asked, sitting up. She'd never heard any of this before. In fact, she never heard much of anything about the past, from him. He always said that all that mattered was _now_.

Angel nodded. "I saw her called. I saw her first attempts at slaying. I watched her for a long time before she came to Sunnydale."

"I didn't know that." She said.

"No one did. I didn't even tell Buffy until her 18th birthday."

"You've been in love with her for a long time." Willow said.

Angle looked at her. There was no bitterness or jealousy in her voice, only a clear understanding of the feelings that he and Buffy had shared for one another. It was a foregone conclusion, and no threat to her, at all.

He thought once again, for perhaps the millionth time, what an extraordinary woman Willow was.

"I have." he said, "But the first time we met, she almost killed me. She kicked me in the back... knocked me flat."

Willow chuckled. "How romantic."

Angel couldn't help but smile at the memory himself. "Yeah. It was."

"The first time you and I met, I called you mom." 

Angel turned to look at her, and his smile grew broad, "You're grouchy when you've been knocked unconscious by a gas leak set up by an invisible girl..." he joked.

She whacked him in the arm. Then her demeanor became serious again. "That invisible girl might have been me if it weren't for you guys... Xander... Oz... Buffy."

Angel said nothing. He knew in his soul he would have been long dead, had he never known Buffy. He never would have seen all the wondrous, terrifying things he's seen, or experienced such a range of glorious emotion. Buffy had helped him to feel human, again. The greatest gift he had ever received...

They lapsed into thoughtful silence, quietly watching the minutes tick by, and thinking about all of their lost friends. The sun began to set, and Angel scooted down the bed, looking out the window as he took Willow into his arms.

"Angel?" She asked.

"Mm?" he said sleepily.

"Do you think she'd be angry? I mean... about us?"

The question took him by surprise. He opened his eyes and looked down at her. His love for Willow was an utterly different creature than what he felt for Buffy. But now, all these years later, he felt it might be all the love he would ever need.

"No. I think she would be glad we were still alive, and that we were taking care of each other... and the kids... I don't think she would be upset." he answered.

"She loved us." Willow said.

Angel sighed. Every detail of the world they lived in... every moment that they spent together... reminded him that she did.

"I know." he said.

[PART III][1]

   [1]: http://www.fanfiction.net/master.cfm?action=story-read&storyid=13769



	8. Default Chapter Title

_**PART III  
**_**_Underground Sunnydale, June, 2018_**

"What about this one?" Rhea asked, bending over to pick another plant specimen, carefully thanking it for sacrificing itself for her work. Her Aunt Willow was a very powerful Witch, and she said it was important to honor all of the living things, including the elements, that she used when she cast spells.

Angel peered at her acquisition, "Valley Sage," he announced.

Rhea nodded, satisfied, and threw the plant in her basket. She was making a dream pillow for her Aunt Willow's birthday, and she had to have just the right ingredients. Having her father along was the best guarantee that she'd get it right -- he knew everything about everything, especially plants.

She watched him wander to the duck pond nearby, and start skimming stones across its smooth surface.

Rhea knew Angel wasn't her real father, anymore than Willow was her real mother. But she barely remembered her mother, and had never met her father at all. Angel might not be human, but he was the best dad anyone could ever want. He always answered her ceaseless questions with patience and clarity, and always spoke to her like a person, instead of somebody's particularly smart pet, like a lot of people did. He told her incredible stories, and taught her Latin, Spanish, French, and his own native tongue, Gaelic. He sang her funny songs, and never told her to get lost when she wanted to go somewhere with him, the way Jeremy did. Her brother had a stupid girlfriend now, and hardly every wanted to spend time with her anymore.

Angel was never too busy for her. He was her best friend.

She couldn't remember when she figured out that Angel was a vampire. The signs were everywhere, and she'd picked up every one, without ever giving it much thought. There were other vampires in the community, too, like her Uncle Spike, but none of them were as sweet and friendly and well-liked as her daddy, so it had never really occurred to her to ask him about it. She just took it for granted. Under the biodome sun, everybody got to walk in the daylight.

But two weeks ago, at dinner, Spike had called Angel his 'Sire'. Rhea knew what that meant. She didn't understand it fully, but she knew the mechanics. It was a part of vampire-hood that nobody seemed to want to talk about.

She set her basket down and walked over to where Angel now sat on a tree stump.

"Daddy?" she asked him.

He smiled at her. "Mm?"

"Are you Spike's daddy, too?"

Angel started, completely unprepared for such a question, "What? Why do you say that?"

Rhea shrugged and sat down next to him. Sometimes, Angel couldn't help but stare at her. She looked more and more like Buffy every day.

"Well... he called you his Sire, and I know that's how you make vampires... The Sire bites someone, and they catch a demon like a cold, and then they're a vampire, too," she said seriously.

Not a bad estimation, for a nine year old.

"Well... yes. That's it, more or less. It's a little more complicated, but..."

"You bit Spike?" she said.

Angel looked at her. He knew, sooner or later, that they would have to talk about this. Rhea knew full well what he was, by now, and being the curious, quick-witted girl that she was, she would naturally want to know more. He had been sincerely hoping it would come later. Much later. Like, never.

"Yes, I did," he answered honestly.

"Why?" Rhea asked.

Why couldn't she ask him why the sky was blue? It would have been much easier to answer.

"I..." he hesitated, thinking seriously about it, "I'm not sure I remember anymore. It was a long time ago."

"How long?" Rhea asked. She always thought it was cool that her dad was almost 300 years old, but looked young enough to be her older brother.

"Hm," Angel did the math quickly in his head, "160 years or so, I think."

"Were you bad then?" She knew that her father had parts of his past he didn't like to talk about -- parts that included Spike. The two of them were always so mean to each other.

Angel looked out over the rolling hills... they reminded him a little of the rich green ones of his childhood.

"Yes, I was," he said.

"Aunt Willow says you have a curse," she went on.

He nodded.

"Isn't a curse bad?" She asked.

Angel felt like Rhea was a Difficult Question Machine, and somebody had recently pumped her full of quarters. If she asked about Hell, he was leaving.

"Usually," he answered.

"But you have a good curse," she said.

"Sort of."

"It stops you from being bad?"

"Theoretically," he said, "Can we talk about something else?"

"No," Rhea said.

Angel nodded. He had thought as much. Rhea was stubborn, like her mother, but with a brain that seemed to suck in knowledge like a sponge.

Unfortunately, he couldn't really set her down with the Encyclopedia Disks, for this one.

"Will you live forever?" She asked.

"Maybe. I could. I don't get older, and I can't get sick," he said.

They sat quietly for a minute.

"Did you love my mommy?" She asked.

Angel looked at her sweet face, a living answer to the very question she was asking.

"Yes, I did. Very much. I still do," he said.

"How come you didn't marry her, instead of my other dad?"

Angel sighed. That was the toughest question of all, really. One he had asked himself a million times over the years. But above and beyond all the reasons there had been that he and Buffy couldn't build a life together, the most important reason sat beside him.

"If your mommy and I had gotten married, you never would have been born," he said.

"Oh," Rhea said, "You can't have babies?"

"No," he said sadly.

"Well, I guess it's a good thing you didn't, then. It's okay... you have us, now."

Rhea sounded more like 19 than 9, sometimes, "Yeah, I guess it was a good thing." He smiled warmly down at her.

"Do you want to see some butterflies?" she asked.

Angel was relieved at the change of subject, "I would love to," he said.

She reached a little hand out to him. He took it, and she led him away into the meadow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Angel collapsed heavily on the couch beside Willow, and sighed deeply, leaning against her. She slowly looked up from her book.

"Rough day?" She asked.

Angel chuckled, "Yes and no. Rhea wanted to know if a Sire was the same thing as a father."

Willow laughed, "Oh no, she did not!"

"Yes she did. I swear, if Spike puts any more ideas in their heads with his big mouth, I'm going to sew it shut."

Willow chuckled again and patted his knee, "Poor baby. What did you expect, that she wouldn't be curious? Not every kid has a father who is a vampire..."

"Hrmph," he snorted.

He sat quietly, looking into the fire as Willow went back to her reading. After a moment, she looked up at him again.

"Since when have you been embarrassed about who you are?" she asked.

He shrugged, "Not embarrassed, exactly..."

Willow closed her book and set it down on the table, curling her legs up beneath her and turning to face him.

"Angel... you have nothing to be ashamed of anymore. You've more than made up for what happened before," she said gently.

Angel sighed, "Maybe... But... being here... life is so different. With plasma replacement and digestive enzyme pills, I can eat food, and not have to drink blood... with the artificial sun, I can walk in the daylight, and without somebody trying to stake me or shove a cross in my face or splash me with holy water all the time... it's... it's easy, to pretend that I'm... normal."

Willow squeezed his hand, "You _are_ normal. As normal as any of the others who live down here... Everyone has things in their past that they aren't proud of. Especially with all these years of war."

Angel thought 'not proud of' was a bit understated for how he felt about his past.

"Look at all of the good you've done over the years," Willow went on, "All the people you've helped... in Sunnydale, in L.A., here. Look at the beautiful children you've raised. Don't you think it's about time you give yourself a reprieve from all that guilt?"

Angel thought about the worst deeds he'd done... the pain and misery he brought on hundreds, maybe thousands, of innocent people. Horrifying, abominable things... Unforgivable things. He thought about Buffy, and what she must be going through, wherever she was... If only he had remained at her side, maybe things would have been different, for all of them.

"No," he said simply, "I don't. That's not why I do the things I do, Willow... to ease my guilt. I do them because they're right."

Willow reached up and turned his face so she could hold his gaze with her own, "There you are. Hardly the morality of a monster, is it?" She smiled warmly at him.

His tension eased a little, "No, I guess not. And... everything is... different, now."

She nodded and kissed his frown lightly, "It is. _You're_ different. You wouldn't be my friend if you weren't."

"Mostly, I'd be trying to eat you," he joked.

She smirked at him.

"I owe a lot of that to you, you know," he added seriously, "You've been... a good friend, to me."

She blushed under his intense gaze. 

"Don't be silly," she objected.

"No," he said, taking her hand and raising it to his lips, "Everything I have today is because of you. Because you took me in when I had nowhere to go... gave me a home, a family..." he bowed his head, "Love. You've helped me to find some peace... the first peace I've had in a very long time." Angel kissed her hand gently, and rubbed her soft skin against his cheek.

Willow was speechless. She felt exactly the same, of course; that the three years they had spent together were the most contented and peaceful she had ever known. Angel had brought her heart back to life -- made her feel like a human being again.

The irony wasn't lost on her.

She had no illusions about what their love was -- an arrangement sprung from need, deep friendship, respect, and trust. They were two lonely people who shared the responsibility of raising the children of their closest friend together. It wasn't a romantic, passionate love, but a warm, companionable one.

Willow realized suddenly that Buffy had once told her almost the exact same thing about Riley. She leaned over and kissed Angel on the forehead, "I love you," she said softly.

He smiled, "I love you, too."

They were what they were. And that was enough, for now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**_[NEXT][1]_**

   [1]: http://www.fanfiction.net/master.cfm?action=story-read&storyid=13770



	9. Default Chapter Title

_Apocalypse: Sunnydale, Part III cont._

Friday was market day. Today was Wednesday, and Angel wasn't even close to ready for the vendors his fields served. Once a week, Sherily and her husband Christopher came to the farm, and got tomatoes, lettuce, cilantro, and other produce and herbs from him to sell at the market for a cut of the credits. A sweet arrangement, usually...

But this week, the couple suddenly wanted more eggplant. Demand was up, they said. More profit, they said. A huge insurgence of vegetarian Mafah demons that had recently joined the community, they said.

Mafahs, apparently, liked eggplant.

Angel enjoyed nothing more than the idea of pleasing as many of the palates of his neighbors as possible, but the truth was, his eggplants looked like crap. They just weren't taking to the soil in these large numbers. He stood looking down at the pathetic vegetables, scowling and scratching his head.

He wondered if Mafahs got angry if they didn't have enough eggplant. All those clawed tentacles... and he was so out of shape...

The echo of a shout floated across the field to his ears. He looked up, shading his eyes, searching to see if he could discern the source of the odd noise. It wasn't children playing, and it wasn't the sound of someone in trouble or in pain...

It was an excited shout. It took a moment for the source to come up the hill into Angel's field of vision -- Jeremy. He was sprinting as fast as his gangly legs would take him, and waving his arms frantically, shouting, "DAD! DAD!"

Angel began moving out of the eggplant enclosure to meet his son partway. He watched the boy lope up the hill, and felt a little pang of pride at how much of a man he was becoming.

"DAD!" he shouted once more as he reached Angel, and then skidded to a halt, stooping over to catch his breath. It was almost a half of a mile to the house, and if Jeremy had sprinted the whole way, it was no wonder he was winded.

Angel slung his water bottle off his back and handed it to his panting son, who accepted it gratefully, and took a long, gulping drink. Angel waited.

"Dad!" he said finally, still, panting, "You have to come to the house. You have to come now! Aunt Willow..."

Angel felt his chest clench, "What happened, is she okay?" he asked, already ready to run himself.

But he noticed suddenly that Jeremy was grinning. He shook his head wildly, "No! I mean, YES! She's fine! Dad, they found my mother! She's alive! She's coming home!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Angel had experienced a lot of shocking things in his life, but nothing, not even the horrors of war and Hell, or the memory of Darla's fangs in his throat, compared to the utter sucking vacuum of astonishment he felt inside him as he ran with Jeremy back to the house.

The only thing that registered in his mind was a single, rhythmic cadence that drove him forward:

Buffy is alive.

He crashed through he back door and found Willow's standing as still as a statue inside the kitchen, her arm hanging limply at her side, the phone still clutched in her hand. Angel approached her slowly, and took the receiver from her. She stiffly turned her head to look at him, her eyes wide.

He held the phone to his ear.

"He... hello..." he said.

"Bloody Hell!" Spike shouted, "I don't want to talk to you, wanker! Put the Good Doctor back on!" He sounded far, far away.

Angel looked over at Willow, who had sunk into a kitchen chair and stared catatonically into space.

"She... can't come to the phone," he said.

"Oh, Felicity Kendall's underpants... Crying, right? Fine, then. I don't have much time before we lose the satellite feed. I wanted to tell you that we found our Buffy."

"Where..." Angel choked out, "Is she... alive?"

"Well, of course she's alive, you plonker! We found her in Alaska, escaping from a compound 5 miles deep in a glacier. Last place in the world we expected to find a camp. She's just got a touch of demon flu..."

The signal cut out. Angel found himself utterly unable to move, and so he stood, just listening to the static.

After what felt like an eternity, he hung up the phone and turned to Willow. She was staring at him. He could almost feel the tension in the air.

"She... she's... I can't believe it. After all this time..." Willow said.

Angel feel dizzy, and gripped the kitchen counter, staring back at her.

Buffy. Alive...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It didn't take long for world of the MIA's return to spread like wildfire through the city.

75 of the last POW's had been found, more or less alive, in a compound built far below the surface of a glacier in northwestern Alaska. The Black Ops team had found someone, it wasn't clear who, wandering across the frozen landscape after having decimated the small contingent of guards and escaped with five others. All had died but this one, who found the team and led them back to rescue the remaining prisoners.

There was little doubt in Angel's mind who the escapee was.

He hadn't slept in the three days since Spike's phone call... he hadn't really fed, hadn't worked... he only walked endlessly through the city, his mind a fuzzy jumble of indistinguishable thoughts. He was hardly able to speak at all, and spent as little time at home as possible. He almost couldn't bear to look at Willow and the children. So, he stayed away.

Willow herself was equally crippled by shock, but much clearer on the problems and confusion presented by Buffy's imminent return. She was overjoyed that her best friend was alive, and ecstatic for all of them that she was coming home.

But what would it be like, having her back again? Her absence had become like a living being, in its own right -- another member of their family, living among them. Missing her, remember her, and honoring her ghost had become central to the daily routine... to the passing of each season... to Willow and Angel's bond itself. Her return could have effects that Willow couldn't even begin to imagine.

She was closer to Buffy's ghost, now, than she had ever been to Buffy herself. When her corporeal body was home again, could anything remain the same for any of them?

Some part of her had become attached to this life...

There was little time to think about that now, and no way to predict it, anyway. In four days, they would find out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Angel found Willow in the study when he returned from the Farming Committee Meeting. It was a rare occasion to find her in that room without a fire blazing, a glass of wine on the table, and a book open in her lap. But tonight, she sat in the dark, simply staring into space.

He could see her clearly despite the utter lack of light, and could read many of his own fears and questions etched into her familiar features. He sat down beside her without turning on the light.

"Cad e mar ata tu, Sabia?" he asked, using his Gaelic pet name for her, hoping to bring her out of her stupor.

She blinked, but didn't turn to look at him.

"I was just thinking about the past..." she said.

Angel sighed, "Me too," he told her.

"Lumiere," Willow said, and the magickal hearthfire sprang to life, casting the room in a low, warm light.

They sat and stared at it.

After a while, Angel spoke, "I'm sorry I haven't been here for you the past few days."

Willow shrugged, "I understand. This is hard for all of us."

Silence settled over them once again. Then, Willow shifted a little, so she faced him in the firelight.

"I can't help thinking... why was it so easy for us to be there for each other when we thought she was gone, and now that we know she's alive, it's like the past three years never happened, and we can't even be in the same room anymore?"

Angel swallowed hard, "I don't know. I guess, with her alive, everything is more... complicated," he finally reached out ant took her hand, "What we have has always been simple. Straightforward. No mysteries, no enigmas, no..."

"Tragic ironic passion?" Willow offered.

He half-smiled, "Yeah, I guess. It's always just been us."

She nodded, "And now... now all of that will change," she said sadly.

With all of his heart, Angel wanted to lie to her -- tell her that Buffy's sudden reappearance in their lives meant nothing to him... changed nothing. But he couldn't. He hated to think that everything he and Willow had shared would disappear in the face of his first love's return. He hated to think he might have been using her to dull his own pain, but the fact was, they had been using each other.

"I don't know, Willow," he said truthfully, "I can't tell you what will happen now."

She clenched her teeth, absolutely refusing to cry, "We never made any promises to one another, Angel. This was always about right here, right now. This moment only, and no more. I never wanted anything else from you. So, when she comes... I'll understand, if you... and she... I mean, you _should_..."

Angel closed his eyes against the pain. He had been so happy, so content, for so long, this new heartbreak felt like a million shards of glass, ripping him in two. He bowed his head.

"It's never that simple between Buffy and me," he said, "I don't want to... just...assume anything. And I don't want to hurt you." A tear dropped out of his eye, "I love this life, Willow. Part of me doesn't want it to change. Part of me is terrified of seeing Buffy again. But I can't lie to you. I still love her. I always have. I never stopped, not even for a moment."

Willow nodded. All she felt was a dull, thudding ache in her heart -- she didn't think there was much of it left to break, after all of the others...and this was something she had thought about many times.

"I know," she said quietly, "There was never any question of that," she took a deep breath, and sat up straighter, "Angel... I think that... when Buffy comes back, maybe you should move back to the singles' quarters."

Angel started, taken by surprise," You do? Why? What about the kids?"

"They'll have enough to think about, getting to know their mother again. And I don't want Buffy to... to have to deal with... you know, us," she said.

Angel blinked away his tears. Once again, Willow was doing her very best to be brave and strong in the face of her pain, for him. Thinking straight... making logical choices. Something he thought he too, was once good at.

"Okay," he said, "I'll go."

"Just for a while. Until we figure things out," Willow added.

For the first time since they had been reunited, the silence that feel between them was an awkward one.

"Willow... this doesn't change the way I feel about you," Angel said after a moment, "You know how much I care about you."

She smiled sadly at him, "I know."

He reached out and touched her beloved face, "I owe you everything I have in this life. And for that, no matter what, I will always love you. You're a part of my soul, now... my family. And you will always be my friend," he said softly, and kissed her sweet lips.

She pulled him into her arms, "I love you too, Angel. That will never change."

They held one another long into the night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[NEXT][1]

   [1]: http://www.fanfiction.net/master.cfm?action=story-read&storyid=13771



	10. Default Chapter Title

_Apocalypse: Sunnydale, Part III cont._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
(Author's note: Zazen is a type of Buddhist Meditation... it's the whole kneeling for hours part.)

Angel didn't see Buffy when she returned. In fact, he left town himself. Instead of moving back to his old apartment, he hiked to the farthest edge of the community and sat.

Someone had taken the time and the trouble to build a glade here, complete with a riverlet and a copse of giant oak, birch, and willow trees. Birds and butterflies flew about, and the river's edge was densely populated with bugs and toads.

He sat zazen for hours on end, watching the minutes trickle by as only an immortal could. He bathed in the cool water, and ate only what he had brought with him. He had too much to think about to be around anyone else right now. Long a loner, he had come to rely on peace and solitude to help him work through his problems.

Angel felt as though everything and everyone he had come to love had been torn away from him, once again. The irony was, it wasn't his curse, or the war, or any other thing about him or his destiny that was coming between him and his life, it was Buffy herself, who had once _been_ his life. He was upset to find that some part of him resented her for it.

As he sat, he struggled to find his center again. What was it, now? Once, there had been Buffy. Then, his work. Then, the war. And for the past few years, it had been Jeremy and Willow and Rhea.

He realized suddenly that after all these years, he still didn't know himself, except in relation to others, and the world around him. He had no idea who _he_ thought he was.

It was a situation he would have to remedy, and soon. He would find no other true answers until he had.

The only thing he knew for certain was that he didn't want to lose his family... the children, or his work on the land. It made him happy, to be connected to life that way... raising people, and raising plant life. These things were solid and sure for him, and he would fight to keep them.

_//Oh, God, am I getting THAT hokey?//_

He sighed. How did he feel about Willow? And Buffy? His emotions for both women were so tangled up in one another, he couldn't seem to pull them apart. He loved Willow, he could honestly say that, but how, and why? Did he love her as his mate, because she was kind and giving , beautiful, brilliant, and strong? Or did he love her because she was the last tie to what had been, before? Did he love her because of her connection with Buffy? Did he love her in a way that was built to transcend time, space, and obstacles the way that he loved the Slayer?

No. They had been thrown together by sad circumstance, not because they were irresistibly drawn to one another. They had fallen into one another's lives because of Buffy's children. They'd ended up in each other's arms because of Buffy's death -- or rather, her mistakenly assumed death -- as a comfort, for one another. Nothing more. No matter how attractive and desirable he found Willow, no matter how much he respected and liked her, what they shared was nothing like that deep, abiding passion he held for Buffy.

It had been a long time since Angel had let those old feelings come to the surface. It had been a long time since his life had sprung from his certainty that he was meant to love Buffy, even if he couldn't be with her, until the end of time. He had shoved all of that deep inside the recesses of his heart, and built his new life, like an airtight fortress, around it. He didn't know if he had the strength to let it out anymore, even if he wanted to. He wasn't certain if he even knew how. And... there was still the unknown factor: how Buffy herself felt...

Could it be possible that they had lost that connection, forever? That the one lifeline he'd clung to for so many years -- that had brought him back from Hell and through a war -- had simply vanished?

There was only one way for him to find out, and he didn't think he had the strength to do that, either.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Willow sat in her office at the clinic, waiting for Buffy to be done with the latest in her long line of debriefings. She was supposed to stop by when she was finished, and the two of them would have dinner with the children at the house.

Buffy had been home for nearly a week, and Willow had hardly seen her at all, she was so busy. The two women hadn't yet had a chance to spend five minutes alone together. And there was so much for them to talk about: Where Buffy had been, how she'd survived _and_ escaped... and how she'd found _Spike_, of all people.

They'd need to rehash all the years that they'd been apart. That's what best friends did. They'd talk about the way the community had grown, about everything that had happened tot he children... about how weird it was to see Buffy's name on the War Memorial wall.

And, inevitably, they would talk about Willow herself... and that would, sooner or later, lead to Angel... and that was where things could get ugly.

Buffy still didn't know that he was here, among them, let alone that the vampire had lived in Willow's home... slept in her bed... raised Buffy's children with her.

For the first three days, Buffy had been in quarantine, suffering from some demon fever that no one had ever heard of. Then she went from one high-level defense meeting to another, that never included anyone less than a General. Hush hush. Top Secret. No Willow's.

She hadn't even been allowed to see the children for more than five minutes, so there was no one who knew her tie to Angel who would tell her. Willow had been to see Buffy, allowed into quarantine briefly by her medical clearance. But the thick glass between them had killed any hope of communication, besides smiles and tears of greeting and gratitude.

Not that Willow had any inkling how she would tell her, anyway.

So, dinner promised to be... interesting. And the days that would follow, even more so. Buffy would want to be with her family again. She would want to know everything.

Willow sighed and pulled off her glasses. Why couldn't anything having to do with her best friend ever be simple?

She missed Angel. Whenever anything problematic came up, they always sat down and worked it out rationally, logically, until they got through it. Actually, Angel usually thought logically, and she usually was the one to yell or cry. She wished fervently that he would be with her, to help her thought this, as he had so many things before. But she herself had asked him to go away, and go away he had. No one had seen or heard from him in days.

With Angel gone walkabout, an escape reminiscent of his tragic brooding days, all of the really hard work was left for her. It wasn't the first time she had borne so heavy a burden alone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Willow was able to pretend all through dinner. In fact, she had hardly had to pretend, with the happy chatter of the children and Buffy's hilarious stories of life on the front.

Leave it to Buffy to cast a positive light on being a prisoner of war. Her story of how Spike had found her, and almost fallen off a cliff in shock, had them all in stitches.

But once the kids were safely tucked in bed, and the two women sat with glasses of wine by the fire, there was no room left for pretending. Buffy's demeanor became immediately darker, as if she too had been putting on a brighter face for the sake of her son and daughter.

Buffy sighed deeply, sinking into the soft cushions of the couch. "I never realized how much I missed upholstered furniture," she said.

Willow sat down beside her, and sipped her wine, "It is handy," she agreed.

She and Angel had put it to good use many times...

"They're like strangers...The kids..." Buffy said suddenly.

Willow turned and looked at her best friend. She looked sad and unhealthy, too thin, and she seemed to sag into herself as she hadn't in the past. Her skin still had a creepy yellow tint to it, although it wasn't nearly the thick, ghostly gold it had been when she first returned.

"It won't be like that forever," Willow told her, "You just have to get to know them again, that's all. They're good kids... smart. They've missed you."

Buffy bowed her head, "I missed them, too," she looked up into Willow's face for the first time, "And you. Every day, I thought about you all. I hoped... prayed... you would all be safe... and happy."

"We have been, mostly," Willow said.

Buffy moved closer to her, "Will... I have to thank you. For taking care of Jeremy and Rhea. For helping them grow up to be so wonderful... for... everything."

Willow shook her head, feeling guilty for all that she still had to tell Buffy, "Don't. I wouldn't have it any other way," she took a deep breath and set her glass down on the end table. She noticed one of Angel's ancient volumes of Voltaire, sitting there," It wasn't just me, Buffy. The whole community has been there for them."

Buffy watched her best friend closely. Her body language was so odd, all of a sudden... tense. She tried to dismiss it to the time they'd spent apart, but something nagged just at the edge of her mind... something Willow wasn't telling her. Something in the air of the community that she'd felt the moment she'd returned.

Willow knew she could feel it, too.

_//Well, no time like the present...//_ she thought bitterly.

"Buffy... a lot has happened, since you've been gone. There are... things you should... you should know."

Buffy felt her chest tighten with fear, "What... like... what, Willow?" Everyone was dead now, weren't they? What else could there be?

_//Better to get it out. Say it all at once. Don't hesitate. Don't stutter. Just tell her. She'll understand.//_

"Two years after you were taken..." Willow felt her strength and resolve drain out of her in a single moment. In her mind, she saw Angel's kind eyes and his genuine smile.

_//I owe him this. I owe them both this. For everything they've given me.//_

Buffy leaned in toward her, her face full of fear, "What? What happened after I left?" She reached out and took her old friend's hand, "Willow, you can tell me. It's okay."

Willow looked into Buffy's warm hazel eyes, which seemed a startling green against her yellowed skin. "I haven't been raising the children alone, Buffy..." she hesitated, uncertain she had the strength to go on, "Angel's been with me."

Buffy abruptly let go of Willow's hand and snapped bolt upright. "What did you say?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Willow looked down at her hands, "Angel has been living her for three years. He came back when they liberated the Might, in Washington."

Buffy slumped back against the couch. She blinked furiously, unable to even process the thought. Angel? Alive? Here? 

"Angel's here? Alive?" She thought aloud.

Willow nodded, "As alive as he's ever been."

Buffy was completely at a loss. She had imagined that Angel died years ago, in the LA Underground. But not only was he alive, he was _here, _maybe nearby...

_//But if he's here, he must know I'm back.//_

"Where is he?" she asked Willow, "Why didn't he come tonight?"

Willow frowned, never more upset at Angel's brooding-loner behavior, "When we... when he heard you were coming back, he... he left."

Buffy looked back at her once again, her eyes quickly filling with tears, "He _left_?" No. He wouldn't...

"No, no," Willow said quickly, "Not left, left. Left like... he needed some time. We... we thought you were dead, Buffy. We held on for a long time, but..." Willow sighed, unsure of how to continue. She hadn't even gotten to the worst part, yet. She felt confused by the old pain, when Buffy sat right there, beside her.

"I can't believe it," Buffy said, "I can't believe he's... alive..."

Willow screwed her face up into a tense frown, "There's more," she said, "There's something you should know. About Angel and I."

Buffy looked at her, and immediately knew what Willow was going to say. She shouldn't have been surprised, shouldn't have been hurt -- it was the natural thing to happen, after all... They both thought she was dead... they were old friends... the only two left...

But it hurt, anyway. As Willow explained how she and Angel had clung to one another in pain, fear, loneliness and desperation, Buffy couldn't help but let a decade of tears burst from her tired eyes.

Angel... her sweet Angel. Beloved, so long lost, to her... since long before the world had torn their world apart, he had been missing from her life.

But Willow had _had_ him. For three years, he had been by her side... in her arms. Willow had possessed what she had only dreamed of, since she was 16 years old. Buffy was so jealous, so irrationally and unfairly angry, she had to suppress the urge to flee.

This was _her_ home. _Her_ family, whatever they might have done in her absence. They were alive, and they were well. She would just have to find a way to deal with the rest.

Buffy had been killed by a vampire; tortured and beaten and shot in battle, and ill almost to death with a wasting demon fever. She had almost starved to death, almost frozen to death. All of her friends and family were dead, and everything she had ever known and loved, destroyed. She had lost her husband, her mother, everything. And Angel had broken her heart himself, over and over again. But nothing... _nothing_ she ever experienced before had ever ripped through her like this news.

She realized suddenly that Willow had stopped talking, and was staring at her, waiting for her to say something.

Buffy looked up at her friend -- 1/4 of the only family she had left in the world. The one who had stood by her, through everything Hell had thrown at them, for twenty years. What could she say? What she and Angel had shared had ended years ago.

"I'm sorry, Buffy," Willow went on, "We were... it hurt us both so badly, to think you were gone. We were so lonely, and the kids were like a bond between us... and a tie to you," she looked at Buffy, her big brown eyes begging for forgiveness, "Please... I hope you understand. Please don't be angry."

Buffy looked at her for a long moment. Then, she gave her friend a sad half-smile, and said, "How could I be angry at you, Will? How could I be angry that two of the people I care most about in the world cared enough about me to take care of each other, and my children?" She reached out and took Willow's hand, noticing, for the first time, that she was starting to show signs of age, "I'm not angry. Of course, it's weird, I mean...but... It doesn't matter. That's the past. I love you. And I'm just glad to be home."

Relief washed through Willow, and she felt the palpable tension seem to lift from the room. She grabbed Buffy and clung to her, tears spilling down her face. She could feel Buffy's matching tears, puddling on her shirt.

"I'm so glad you're here, too, Buffy! I missed you so much!" she cried.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
[NEXT][1]

   [1]: http://www.fanfiction.net/master.cfm?action=story-read&storyid=13772



	11. Default Chapter Title

_Apocalypse: Sunnydale, Part III cont._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
(Author's note: "The Back 40" refers the the farthest section of crop fields from the main house.)

Angel stayed in the back 40, working the fields as far away from the city as possible. But since the underground only spread for 50 miles in each direction, there was only so far he could go... and it didn't seem far enough. He wanted to be on another planet... somewhere where he couldn't constantly feel her presence. Since Buffy's return, he hadn't come into town at all. Jeremy came a couple of times a day to check on him, and bring him clothes and news, but he hadn't seen Rhea at all. The boy's visits were brief, and he barely mentioned his mother, so Angel imagined that Willow must have explained things to him.

The only thing that needed doing out here was threshing early wheat and hay for animal feed. This was Johnson's plot, and the old man usually preferred to use machines for this kind of high-yield, cheap work. When Angel had come to him and asked if he could harvest and acre by hand, he had given him a funny look. Just so long as he got the grain he needed, the farmer cared little for how it was done.

"Odd boy," he observed to his wife as he watched the vampire walk away.

Angel had to do it. He had to keep moving, keep busting his ass, keep plunging headlong into the backbreaking chore, working himself until he dropped, and barely had the strength to drag his carcass back to his camp at the glade.

He could feel her in the air -- he had been mistaken when he thought their bond was broken. He knew intimately, with a stirring deep in his soul, the minute she had passed into the entrance tunnel, and for the past week of his self-imposed exile, he could feel the electric pulse of their blood bond every second. It invaded every cell of every living thing around him, so that even the grain itself seemed to hum with her. Buffy changed the world like that.  Angel seemed to inhale her with every breath, to the point where he could smell nothing else. So he stopped breathing.

One by one, he felt the little bits of things that had made him feel human again falling away. A sensation so common to him, it had almost become his arch-enemy. Sometimes he thought this... this questioning of the right to exist, this tearing self-definition, was truly the curse he had to bear.

He chopped, and pulled, bunched and wrapped and heaved until his immortal bones ached. The acre was almost finished, and it had taken him less than two days.

His mind wandered, every now and again, despite his best attempts to pound thoughts out of his mind with manual labor. It wasn't working any better than Tai Chi, or meditation, had.

Finally, the last bale was wrapped, and he tossed it on the wagon. Looking at the massive mound of hay he'd harvested, he stopped. What was he _doing_? Why was he out here, like some simple-minded coward, hiding? What was he hiding _from_?

Angel wasn't even sure he knew, anymore, why he wanted so desperately to avoid her.

At first, it had been guilt, and some fear. He felt bad for Willow, sorry for the abrupt way that things came to an end between them. But Jeremy had brought him a note from his aunt, addressed to "Mi Cara" -- My Friend -- that explained her feelings about he matter. About how she understood the difference between what was between Angel and Buffy, and what the two of them had shared.

> > _"I know what it feels like, to love someone with your whole being. I loved Xander like that for most of my life. I don't begrudge you your feelings for Buffy. I, better than anyone, besides the two of you, know how deep your bond lives. _
>> 
>> _I know how you are. You feel guilty and responsible, and you're torturing yourself because you think you're hurting me. You're not. Above and beyond, before and after all else, Angel, you are my friend. That hasn't changed, and it won't, ever. The rest? I do love you, but it has never been in 'that' way. You know, the way that springs from your chromosomes... that is your body's very foundation. The way that seems, some days, to be the only reason you keep living..._
>> 
>> _I love you because you gave me my heart back again. You brought me back from a dark place, an empty place, that I had been lost in since Xander died. And I want to do the same for you. So don't worry about me, Angel. You have never given more than you had to give, and I've never asked for it. Believe me, I am stronger for having shared what we have in the past couple of years. But I know the difference... I know what this is, versus what that is. I know where you belong._
>> 
>> _So stop being such a stubborn idiot, and come see Buffy."_

Angel read it a hundred times, hoping that maybe he would come to believe it and take her advice. But the only thing he got, outside of her precious understanding and forgiveness, was one less answer to his ultimate question:

What was he hiding from?

He looked out over the now-empty field at the artificial sun, just beginning to set over the horizon. It dawned on him that there was no reason he couldn't just _leave _the underground. He didn't need to breathe, and there was little doubt he could find more than enough rodents wandering the deserted streets to survive. It would be better, faster, more humane for everyone, if he was just _gone_ from here... no longer in the position to draw pain to the people around him like a black hole.

But the possibility of leaving this, the only home he had known in centuries, devastated him in a whole new way, and brought the question yet _again _to his mind... more specific, and more clear, now:

Why did he feel like he had to run from Buffy?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spike slapped the cards down on the table and grinned at the Slayer, "Full House," he said.

"Damn it!" Buffy barked, and threw her handful of nothing on the table in front of her.

"You may kick demon ass, Slayer, but you _suck_ at poker," he drawled, "You owe me 20 credits."

Buffy got up and went to the kitchen, "Yeah, well, when I get a job, I'll pay you back. Do you want more coffee?" she punched her code into the beverager and stuck her cup under the dispenser.

"Yeah," Spike said, "What do you mean, job? Don't you _have_ a job? Aren't they going to make you a general or the queen or something?"

Buffy returned to the table, handing him his mug before she sat down, "Nope. They're retiring me from the Corps. You'd think there was no more demons or something, the way they discharge vets."

Spike shrugged, "They haven't discharged me."

Buffy shot him a withering look, "And that couldn't possibly be because they enjoy not having you around, I'm sure. I know _I'm_ happier when you're on a mission."

Spiked grinned at her. He had so missed their verbal sparring. Nobody could toss an insult like the Slayer, "Hm. Whereas, you're so bloody _pleasant_ to have around."

Buffy wound up for her comeback, but stopped. She looked slowly up from her cup and smiled at him. For almost 30 years, he had been her worst enemy. But he'd also saved her ass more times than she could count. She trusted him, despite the fact that he was in it strictly for the profit. Sometimes, if she hadn't known better, she'd almost accuse him of having developed a soul, himself.

Spike rolled his eyes, "Oh, don't go all soft and sentimental on me. It gives me a headache," he said.

"Want some Tylenol?" she shot back, "Oh, sorry. I forgot -- no living bloodstream."

"Yeah, well, Tylenol isn't enough for a Buffy Summers Headache, anyway. Need more like a pint of whiskey..."

"Well, I have some wooden, pointy medicine that might help ease your pain..." Buffy went on.

Spike had already moved on to his next topic, "So, what do you want to do now, then?"

Buffy shrugged, "I don't know. I've been a soldier for so long, I don't think I know how to be anything else."

"Well... there's always the pro poker circuit..."

Buffy sneered at him.

They lapsed into companionable silence for a few moments.

"Why didn't you tell me Angel was here?" she asked finally.

Spike's head shot up, and he looked at her curiously, "Was there some reason why I should?"

"It would have been nice to know... to be prepared," she answered.

Spike shrugged, "I rescued you. Not my job to help you sort out your twisted love life."

Buffy stared down into her mug, "I just wish I'd been ready, that's all. I thought he was dead. A long time ago."

"So, you've seen our Peaches, then?" Spike asked. He might not like to get involved in his Sire's personal business, but he loved a good soap opera as much as the next bloke, and he was always on the lookout for more insult material.

The Slayer shook her head, "No. He's gone somewhere..."

_That_ took Spike by surprise, and he was unable to hide it, "President of the 'Up With Slayers Society' hasn't stopped to see you, then?"

"No. In fact, he hasn't been in town since I got back," she said sadly, "Maybe it's just as well. We can't possibly have much to say to each other anymore, anyway."

Spike turned fully to her and leaned forward on the table, "Who are you trying to fool? The two of you are like bloody magnet and iron. Always have been, even when you married that git, what was his name?"

"Riley," Buffy answered flatly.

"Right. Soldier Boy. Even then, you still got that moony look on your face all the time, and I could tell you were off thinking about my poor sap of a Sire. And when he came back, he couldn't talk about anything else but you. Cried like a baby at that stupid memorial ceremony a few years back..."

Buffy stared at him. Why was it that this soulless blood-sucker always seemed to know her and Angel better than they themselves did?

"Things are different now," she said weakly, "That was a long time ago."

Spike snorted, "Yeah. Okay, whatever." He got up and put on his coat.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"Why, do you want me to stay and kick your ass again? I think I've divested you of enough money for one day. Besides, some us _do_ have jobs, and frankly, all this woe and angst is starting to make me itch. Why don't you just go see the poor bastard and get it over with? You two. Like a couple of retarded housecats, chasing your own tails in endless bloody circles, instead of just turning around and catching each other's..."

He opened the front door and walked out.

"See you at dinner on Sunday!" Buffy called after him.

He raised his hand in acknowledgement, and was gone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_( Author's note: Translation: "Cad e mar ata tu, Sabia?" = "How are you, Sweet?")_

Angel was wrinkled up like an old prune by the time he finished his marathon shower. Exile tended to make one pretty filthy.

He sighed as he eased into a soft pair of sweats, and absently stared at his utter lack of reflection in the mirror.

He'd finally gotten to the point where he thought he might be standing on solid ground again. He still had his life, which he loved... still had the kids, still had Willow as his friend. The rest of it? He could handle it. He'd handled far worse. Worse, like thinking he'd never see Buffy again. But had he ever _really_ believed it, deep inside?

He didn't think he had. He had tried to convince himself that she was dead, but his heart and soul had known it wasn't true. It was only a matter of time before she would return, he'd known it all along.

The door to his apartment buzzed as he walked to his bedroom. Probably Willow, stopping to give him a good scolding for disappearing the way he had, or Rhea, coming by for help on her Latin.

"Yeah. Come in!" He called absently.

The door slid open, and the texture of the air immediately changed, shifted, became thicker, and hotter. He looked up, and froze in his tracks when he saw Buffy standing in the doorway.

She looked terrible, worn and haggard and... yellow? So thin and weak... so frightened.

Angel didn't think he had ever seen anything so beautiful. He was immediately overwhelmed by her presence. All the little hairs on his body stood on end, and he held the towel still to his head, forgotten, as he gaped at her.

"Hi," she said casually.

He couldn't identify the look on her incredible face. He didn't know what her wan little half-smile meant. Did she know everything? Was she alright? What had she come there to say?

Angel blinked at her.

Buffy cocked an eyebrow at him, "Aren't you going to say hello? I mean, I haven't seen you in like, 12 years, and I've been back from the dead -- again -- for two weeks, and not so much as a Mylar balloon?"

He could hear her heart pounding and her blood rushing through her veins. He felt like he'd turned to raging hot stone... like he was seeing a ghost, or some physical part of him that had been torn away years ago.

Buffy stood, suddenly twice as uncomfortable, and fidgeted nervously, leaning her weight from one leg tot he other. An old quadricep injury that never quite healed right made it hard for her to stand still for too long, and she had no inkling where to sit, or if it was okay for her to be there, or how to move, even.

He was beautiful... gorgeous... exactly the way she remembered him, down to the detail.

Angel was so overwhelmed with memories and conflicting emotions, he couldn't find anything clever to say. He couldn't think of _anything _to say. He couldn't think, at _all._

The only thing left to do... the only urge that came from his deepest instinct, he did. He dropped the towel, took the length of the room in two long strides, and grabbed her, scooping her up and crushing her frail body in his arms.

Buffy gasped with joy and pain, and threw her arms around his neck.

Tears washed through him, over him, and out of him like a torrent, and he sobbed into her soft hair. He cried so hard, he had to lean on the edge of the easy chair to keep from toppling over, still clutching her in his arms.

"Buffy..." his voice came, broken, through his hitching sobs, "Buffy... Buffy... Buffy..."

She broke down too, at the sound of him softly chanting her name. She never thought she'd hear his sweet voice again, and its sound was so precious, it felt as though he were breathing life into her soul.

After a time, he held her away from him a little to look at her, drinking in her face like she was a lush oasis, and he a man centuries in the desert. It was all still there, almost exactly how he remembered... her creamy skin, her soft, green eyes, her full lips turned up in a little smile despite the stream of tears that ran off them.

Angel reached up and traced the lines of her face with his fingertips, re-memorizing every detail, every little change that the years had marked on her.

"Are you really here?" he asked finally, the question more like a gasp -- a first gasp-- of air, than a string of words.

She nodded and smiled, "I could ask you the same thing," she said, casting her teary eyes to the floor, "I never thought I'd see you again."

He cupped her chin and raised her eyes to meet his.

"I never doubted it, not for a minute," he said with a certainly he hadn't fully realized, and softly kissed her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[EPILOGUE][1]

   [1]: http://www.fanfiction.net/master.cfm?action=story-read&storyid=13774



	12. Default Chapter Title

_**Epilogue  
**_**_Underground Sunnydale, September, 2018_**

Rhea squealed happily as Angel hitched her higher up on his back and started to run up the hill.

Willow and Buffy strolled a little behind, enjoying the warm autumn afternoon. Willow carried a picnic basket, and Buffy pulled up a long stalk of grass to chew on. She watched Angel and her daughter playing in the distance.

"He's so good with her," she observed aloud.

Willow nodded. "She's daddy's little girl..." she said.

Buffy felt that tiny pang again, of jealousy and regret for the years she had lost with her children, and her friends... and Angel. But she easily shook off the melancholy. There was no need to think of it, now. Things were falling into a perfectly easy place... a comfortable, warm place that she had never even imagined was possible.

"Yeah..." she said wistfully.

"Ooh, Daddy, a butterfly!" Rhea cried, "Down! Down!" 

Angel complied, and the little girl sped off across the meadow in hot pursuit. He watched her go, and then turned to see the two women coming up the hill behind him. He smiled, feeling a wave of joy flow through him. He walked to them, took the basket from Willow, kissed her warmly on the cheek, then gave a softer, deeper kiss to Buffy's lips. The pair moved in to flank him, and he put an arm around both.

"There's nothing I like better than an afternoon picnic with my three favorite girls..." he said lightly, and gave both a squeeze.

Willow and Buffy both rolled their eyes.

"Women. Two of us are women," Willow corrected him.

He grinned and shrugged, "Females."

"Makes us sound like dogs," Buffy added.

He turned and lay a mock-withering look on her, but his smile didn't fade, "No, then you would be bitches, wouldn't you?"

They laughed.

Arm in arm, the threesome walked up the hill to their favorite glade, as the artificial sun glowed gold and warm on them. Willow began relaying an amusing story about a particularly surly demon who had come to see her in the clinic, and Buffy and Angel laughed, stealing loving glances and private smiles at one another from time to time.

The air was becoming crisp and cool, and the harvest was swiftly approaching. Soon, it would be winter in Sunnydale once again. But they had no doubt that this would be the warmest one that any of them could remember.

**_The end._**

**_[More Ducks' Fanfic][1]_**

   [1]: http://fly.to/ducksfanfic



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